I stared at him open-mouthed, and he burst out laughing.
‘No, no, it is not the insanity that I suffer from. Make your mind easy. It was a foolish question that I put to you there, for, you see, my friend of whom I spoke was a young man, a man who thought all women good, and most of them beautiful. But you are a man of middle age, a doctor, a man who knows the folly and the vanity of most things in this life of ours. Well, well, we are neighbours. I beg of you to accept and present to your excellent sister my best marrow.’
He stooped, and with a flourish produced an immense specimen of the tribe, which I duly accepted in the spirit in which it was offered.
‘Indeed,’ said the little man cheerfully, ‘this has not been a wasted morning. I have made the acquaintance of a man who in some ways resembles my far-off friend. By the way, I should like to ask you a question. you doubtless know everyone in this tiny village. Who is the young man with the very dark hair and eyes, and the handsome face. he walks with his head flung back, and an easy smile on his lips?’
The description left me in no doubt.
‘That must be captain Ralph Paton,’ I said slowly.
‘I have not seen him about here before?’
‘No, he has not been here for some time. But he is the son – adopted son, rather – of Mr Ackroyd of Fernly Park.’
My neighbour made a slight gesture of impatience.
‘Of course, I should have guessed. Mr Ackroyd spoke of him many times.’
‘You know Mr Ackroyd?’ I said, slightly surprised.
‘Mr Ackroyd knew me in London – when I was at work there. I have asked him to say nothing of my profession down here.’
‘I see,’ I said, rather amused by this patent snobbery, as I thought it.
But the little man went on with an almost grandiloquent smirk.
‘One prefers to remain incognito. I am not anxious for notoriety. I have not even troubled to correct the local version of my name.’
‘Indeed,’ I said, not knowing quite what to say.
‘Captain Ralph Paton,’ mused Mr Porrott. ‘And so he is engaged to Mr Ackroyd’s niece, the charming Miss Flora.’
‘Who told you so?’ I asked, very much surprised.
‘Mr Ackroyd. About a week ago. he is very pleased about it – has long desired that such a thing should come to pass, or so I understood from him. I even believe that he brought some pressure to bear upon the young man. That is never wise. A young man should marry to please himself – not to please a stepfather from whom he has expectations.’