“Well, doctor, how are they at Boxall Hill?” said the squire, waylaying him on the gravel sweep before the door. The squire was very hard set for occupation in these summer months.
“Quite well, I believe.”
“I don’t know what’s come to Frank. I think he hates this place now. He’s full of the election, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes; he told me to say he should be over here soon. Of course there’ll be no contest, so he need not trouble himself.”
“Happy dog, isn’t he, doctor? to have it all before him instead of behind him. Well, well; he’s as good a lad as ever lived,—as ever lived. And let me see; Mary’s time—” And then there were a few very important words spoken on that subject.
“I’ll just step up to Lady Arabella now,” said the doctor.
“She’s as fretful as possible,” said the squire. “I’ve just left her.”
“Nothing special the matter, I hope?”
“No, I think not; nothing in your way, that is; only specially cross, which always comes in my way. You’ll stop and dine to-day, of course?”
“Not to-day, squire.”