Una, silent and interested, kept her eyes fixed on the house. She had often heard Jack describe it, but this palatial residence did not answer to his description. Stephen’s money and energy had entirely transformed the place.
The carriage pulled up at the entrance, and half a dozen grooms flew to the horses’ heads: footmen in handsome liveries stood in attendance, and the servants formed a lane for their master to pass through. Una had often read of such a reception, but here was a reality.
Stephen helped her to alight, and took her and his mother on his arm, his head erect, a warm flush on his cheek.
Suddenly the flush disappeared and a frown took its place as he saw amongst the crowd gathered together at the entrance the parchment-like visage of old Skettle.
But the frown disappeared as he entered the house, and stood silent, listening to the approving comments of Mrs. Davenant.
“My dear Stephen,” she said, “you have certainly altered the place—I should not have known it. And is this what was the gloomy old Hall?”
“Yes,” said Stephen, proudly, and he glanced round at the alterations with an air of satisfaction, and looked at Una’s face for some sign of approval.
But Una was looking around anxiously. If it was so much altered, then it was not the old home that Jack knew and remembered.
“You will find everything altered and improved, I hope,” said Stephen.
Altered, indeed! They have even shifted the old staircase, so that it would have been difficult to have found the room in which the old squire died, exclaiming: