“No; I shall try and get back this evening, if possible—but to-morrow morning, at the latest. I only came to close a few pending accounts of my last summer’s stay at your lovely Virginia Water, and am going to Paris for the Exhibition, having been offered the superintendence of a large establishment.”
“But I hear that the Exhibition is postponed till next year.”
“So it is; but this is to be quite a new building, and erected close to the Exhibition, if we can get permission granted.”
“Good morning, sir; I shall see you before you leave. I am only going to the farm.”
“Yes, you will.”
I was sitting down to my breakfast, when, to my annoyance, as I had much business to transact, some one knocked at the door, and, without waiting for the reply, came in. It was the landlord, with a face full of anxiety and astonishment, his glasses raised to his forehead, a newspaper in his hand, and looking as serious as if he had just been married, or had lost one of his favourite pups. “I say, master,” said he, “do you mean it?”
“Mean what, man?”
“But now, really! do you mean it?”
“I’m puzzled to know to what you allude. Is it about my trip to Paris?”
“Paris! no, that has nothing to do with the letter of yours I have just read in the Times of this day.”