To
meet him there was to meet a most popular celebrity--could any man forget
it? Therefore, were there two men of the name of Marston Greyle?
That was one problem--closely affecting Oliver's disappearance. The other
had nothing to do with Oliver's disappearance--nevertheless, it
interested Richard Copplestone. He was a young man of quick perception
and accurate observation, and his alert eyes had seen that the Squire of
Scarhaven occupied a position suggestive of power and wealth. The house
which stood beneath the old Keep was one of size and importance, the sort
of place which could only be kept up by a rich man--Copplestone's glances
at its grounds, its gardens, its entrance lodge, its entire surroundings
had shown him that only a well-to-do man could live there. How came it,
then, that the Squire's relations--his cousin and her mother--lived in a
small and unpretentious cottage, and were obviously not well off as
regards material goods? Copplestone had the faculty of seeing things at a
glance, and refined and cultivated as the atmosphere of Mrs. Greyle's
parlour was, it had taken no more than a glance from his perceptive eyes
to see that he was there confronted with what folk call genteel poverty.
Mrs. Greyle's almost nun-like attire of black had done duty for a long
time; the carpet was threadbare; there was an absence of those little
touches of comfort with which refined women of even modest means love to
surround themselves; a sure instinct told him that here were two women
who had to carefully count their pence, and lay out their shillings with
caution.
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