At first the blind man was full of curiosity as to the reason of this unusual action, as those deprived of sight usually are.

“I know, Sir Henry,” Flockart said presently, and not without hesitation, “that certain ill-disposed people have endeavoured to place an entirely wrong construction upon your wife’s friendship towards me.  For that reason I have decided to leave Glencardine, both for her sake and for yours.”

“But, my dear fellow,” exclaimed the blind man, “why do you suggest such a thing?”

“Because your wife’s enemies have their mouths full of scandalous lies,” he replied.  “I tell you frankly, Sir Henry, that my friendship with her ladyship is a purely platonic one.  We were children together, at home in Bedford, and ever since our schooldays I have remained her friend.”

“I know that,” remarked the old man quietly.  “My wife told me that when you dined with us on several occasions at Park Street.  I have never objected to the friendship existing between you, Flockart; for, though I have never seen you, I have always believed you to be a man of honour.”

“I feel very much gratified at those words, Sir Henry,” he said in a deep, earnest voice, glancing at the grey, dark-spectacled face of the fragile man whose arm he was holding.  “Indeed, I’ve always hoped that you would repose sufficient confidence in me to know that I am not such a blackguard as to take any advantage of your cruel affliction.”

The blind Baronet sighed.  “Ah, my dear Flockart! all men are not honourable like yourself.  There are many ready to take advantage of my lack of eyesight.  I have experienced it, alas! in business as well as in my private life.”

The dark-faced man was silent.  He was playing an ingenious, if dangerous, game.  The Baronet had referred to business—­his mysterious business, the secret of which he was now trying his best to solve.  “Yes,” he said at length, “I suppose the standard of honesty in business is nowadays just about as low as it can possibly be, eh?  Well, I’ve never been in business myself, so I don’t know.  In the one or two small financial deals in which I’ve had a share, I’ve usually been ’frozen out’ in the end.”

“Ah, Flockart,” sighed the Laird of Glencardine, “you are unfortunately quite correct.  The so-called smart business man is the one who robs his neighbour without committing the sin of being found out.”

This remark caused the other a twinge of conscience.  Did he intend to convey any hidden meaning?  He was full of cunning and cleverness.  “Well,” Flockart exclaimed, “I’m truly gratified to think that I retain your confidence, Sir Henry.  If I have in the past been able to be of any little service to Lady Heyburn, I assure you I am only too delighted.  Yet I think that in the face of gossip which some of your neighbours here are trying to spread—­gossip started, I very much fear, by Miss Gabrielle—­my absence from Glencardine will be of distinct advantage to all concerned.  I do not, my dear Sir Henry, desire for one single moment to embarrass you, or to place her ladyship in any false position.  I——­”