“It is a great blessing, and I am grateful for it. This is the way to the house.”
Lumley, now formally installed in a grave bedroom, with dimity curtains and dark-brown paper with light-brown stars on it, threw himself into a large chair, and yawned and stretched with as much fervour as if he could have yawned and stretched himself into his uncle’s property. He then slowly exchanged his morning dress for a quiet suit of black, and thanked his stars that, amidst all his sins, he had never been a dandy, and had never rejoiced in a fine waistcoat—a criminal possession that he well knew would have entirely hardened his uncle’s conscience against him. He tarried in his room till the second bell summoned him to descend; and then, entering the drawing-room, which had a cold look even in July, found his uncle standing by the mantelpiece, and a young, slight, handsome woman, half-buried in a huge but not comfortable fauteuil.
“Your aunt, Mrs. Templeton; madam, my nephew, Mr. Lumley Ferrers,” said Templeton, with a wave of the hand.
“John,—dinner!”
“I hope I am not late!”
“No,” said Templeton, gently, for he had always liked his nephew, and began now to thaw towards him a little on seeing that Lumley put a good face upon the new state of affairs.
“No, my dear boy—no; but I think order and punctuality cardinal virtues in a well-regulated family.”
“Dinner, sir,” said the butler, opening the folding-doors at the end of the room.
“Permit me,” said Lumley, offering his arm to his aunt. “What a lovely place this is!”
Mrs. Templeton said something in reply, but what it was Ferrers could not discover, so low and choked was the voice.