“He! who?” said Lord Lilburne, “the horse or the other animal—I mean the friend?”
“The friend,” answered Arthur, smiling, but colouring while he smiled, for he half suspected the quiet sneer of his uncle.
“Who is your friend, Arthur?” asked Mrs. Beaufort, looking up from her work.
“Watson, an Oxford man. By the by, I must introduce him to you.”
“Watson! what Watson? what family of Watson? Some Watsons are good and some are bad,” said Mrs. Beaufort, musingly.
“Then they are very unlike the rest of mankind,” observed Lord Lilburne, drily.
“Oh! my Watson is a very gentlemanlike person, I assure you,” said Arthur, half-laughing, “and you need not be ashamed of him.” Then, rather desirous of turning the conversation, he continued, “So my father will be back from Beaufort Court to-day?”
“Yes; he writes in excellent spirits. He says the rents will bear raising at least ten per cent., and that the house will not require much repair.”
Here Arthur threw open the window.
“Ah, Watson! how are you? How d’ye do, Marsden? Danvers, too! that’s capital! the more the merrier! I will be down in an instant. But would you not rather come in?”