Mallathorpe, and to his own solicitor, as
soon as possible.
"But that's probably only my fancy," he mused, as he sped back to
Barford; "the real explanation is doubtless that suggested by Mrs.
Mallathorpe. Something made the old man think of the collection of local
books at Normandale Grange--and he immediately wrote off to ask her to
see him, with the idea of persuading her to let him have them. That's
all there is in it--what a suspicious sort of party I must be getting!
And suspicious of whom--and of what? Anyhow, I'm glad I went out
there--and I'll certainly go again."
On his way back to Barford he thought a good deal of the two young
people he had just left. There was something of the irony of fate about
their situation. There they were, in possession of money and luxury and
youth--and already bored because they had nothing to do. He felt what
closely approached a contemptuous pity for Harper--why didn't he turn to
some occupation? There was their own business--why didn't he put in so
many hours a day there, instead of leaving it to managers? Why didn't he
interest himself in local affairs?--work at something? Already he had
all the appearance of a man who is inclined to slackness--and in that
case, mused Collingwood, his money would do him positive harm. But he
had no thoughts of that sort about Nesta Mallathorpe: he had seen that
she was of a different temperament.
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