“When?” very sharply.
“About half-past five or six o’clock; it was quite dark.”
“Pitch dark of course. Dear me, what a strange hour!”
“Well, you see, as Lady Hildegarde says herself, there is no occasion to be ceremonious with me.”
“That’s true,” brightening up. “And what else did she say?”
“Oh, she talked of India and of old times. She has invited us to dinner on Christmas Day.”
“Come! that is a compliment. For, of course, it’s a family party. But how will you get there? Scott never hires out his flies on Christmas Day.”
“Lady Hildegarde has kindly offered to send for us.”
“Nonsense!—and Mr. Somers is so churlish of his horses?”