“Is it not time we dined?” he asked. “It seems to me that our servants do as they please with us.”
“It is my fault,” Mrs. Heriton replied. “I bade them put the dinner back for a quarter of an hour. Mr. Dormer is out; Florence has carried him off on one of her wild excursions.”
Mr. Heriton knitted his brow.
“She has too much liberty. Her manners are terribly unformed, and she is quite childish for her age.”
“She is so young!” replied the mother deprecatingly. “I thought, dear Richard, we had agreed not to bring her forward too early?”
He ahemmed, and looked slightly embarrassed.
“Yes, yes—of course! But, as Morrison of Carnbraes was remarking this morning, the heiress of the Heritons is—is, in fact—is not an ordinary person.”
Mrs. Heriton looked at him inquiringly as he walked to and fro, but was silent. She knew that he would be more likely to explain himself if she did not attempt to question him.
“A year or two will transform Florence into a lovely woman, and, with her advantages and wealth, she ought to marry well—very well. By the bye, Mrs. Morrison made a remark about your protégé—this Mr. Dormer—a remark that I thought very impertinent.”
Mrs. Heriton forbore to remind him that she had nothing to do with Mr. Dormer’s introduction to the priory, but gently observed: