When they had walked on for a time, more rapidly than before, the master said, clasping the pupil’s arm between the elbow and the shoulder with his hand:

“You were going to tell me something about that person. What did you say his name was?”

“Wrayburn. Mr. Eugene Wrayburn. He is what they call a barrister, with nothing to do. The first time he came to our old place was when my father was alive. He came on business; not that it was his business⁠— he never had any business⁠—he was brought by a friend of his.”

“And the other times?”