‘Along the boreen, sort; then up the hill and down the hill, and you’ll come to it if you keep going. It’s a mile by day and two by night.’
Richard reached the house again precisely at seven o’clock. Teresa was out in the garden gathering flowers. They exchanged the usual chatter about being up early, walks before breakfast, and the freshness of the morning, and then a gong sounded.
‘Breakfast,’ said Teresa, flying towards the house.
The meal was again served in the hall. Richard wondered at its promptness in this happy-go-lucky household, but when he saw the face of the stern old woman named Bridget he ceased to wonder. Bridget was evidently a continual fount of order and exactitude. Whatever others did or failed to do, she could be relied upon to keep time.
Mr. Raphael Craig came out of the room into which he had vanished six hours earlier. He kissed Teresa, and shook Richard’s hand with equal gravity. In the morning light his massive head looked positively noble, Richard thought. The bank manager had the air of a great poet or a great scientist. He seemed wrapped up in his own deep meditations on the universe.
Yet he ate a noticeably healthy breakfast. Richard counted both the rashers and the eggs consumed by Raphael Craig.
‘How do you go to town, dad?’ asked Teresa. ‘Remember, to-day is Saturday.’
‘I shall go down on the Panhard. You smashed the other last night, and I don’t care to experiment with our new purchase this morning.’
‘No, you won’t go down on the Panhard,’ Richard said to himself; ‘I’ve seen to that.’
‘Perhaps I may have the pleasure of taking Mr. Redgrave with me?’ the old man added.