“At this door!” cried the old gentleman. With which he hurried out of the room, down the stairs, up the coachsteps, and into the coach, without another word.
When the room-door closed behind him, Mr. Grimwig lifted up his head, and converting one of the hind legs of his chair into a pivot, described three distinct circles with the assistance of his stick and the table; sitting in it all the time. After performing this evolution, he rose and limped as fast as he could up and down the room at least a dozen times, and then stopping suddenly before Rose, kissed her without the slightest preface.
“Hush!” he said, as the young lady rose in some alarm at this unusual proceeding. “Don’t be afraid. I’m old enough to be your grandfather. You’re a sweet girl. I like you. Here they are!”
In fact, as he threw himself at one dexterous dive into his former seat, Mr. Brownlow returned, accompanied by Oliver, whom Mr. Grimwig received very graciously; and if the gratification of that moment had been the only reward for all her anxiety and care in Oliver’s behalf, Rose Maylie would have been well repaid.
“There is somebody else who should not be forgotten, by the bye,” said Mr. Brownlow, ringing the bell. “Send Mrs. Bedwin here, if you please.”
The old housekeeper answered the summons with all dispatch; and dropping a curtsey at the door, waited for orders.
“Why, you get blinder every day, Bedwin,” said Mr. Brownlow, rather testily.
“Well, that I do, sir,” replied the old lady. “People’s eyes, at my time of life, don’t improve with age, sir.”
“I could have told you that,” rejoined Mr. Brownlow; “but put on your glasses, and see if you can’t find out what you were wanted for, will you?”
The old lady began to rummage in her pocket for her spectacles. But Oliver’s patience was not proof against this new trial; and yielding to his first impulse, he sprang into her arms.