"I do not know; she did not say. Little Hughy is ill, and that may keep her."
"After all, Harry, I may have to pack up and go to Clavering even yet,—that is, if the mistress of the house will have me."
"Never in the way you mean, Lady Ongar. Do not propose to kill all my relations in order that I might have their property. Archie intends to marry, and have a dozen children."
"Archie marry! Who will have him? But such men as he are often in the way by marrying some cookmaid at last. Archie is Hugh's body-slave. Fancy being body-slave to Hugh Clavering! He has two, and poor Hermy is the other; only he prefers not to have Hermy near him, which is lucky for her. Here is some tea. Let us sit down and be comfortable, and talk no more about our horrid relations. I don't know what made me speak of them. I did not mean it."
Harry sat down and took the cup from her hand, as she had bidden the servant to leave the tray upon the table.
"So you saw Count Pateroff," she said.
"Yes, and his sister."
"So she told me. What do you think of them?" To this question Harry made no immediate answer. "You may speak out. Though I lived abroad with such as them for twelve months, I have not forgotten the sweet scent of our English hedgerows, nor the wholesomeness of English household manners. What do you think of them?"
"They are not sweet or wholesome," said he.
"Oh, Harry, you are so honest! Your honesty is beautiful. A spade will ever be a spade with you."