“Absurd!” cried she, peevishly; “he’s not forty.”
“I spoke of what he seemed to be; his hair is perfectly white, he stoops considerably, and looks, in fact, the remains of a shattered, broken man, who never at any time was a strong one.”
An insolent curl moved her mouth, but she bit her lips, and with an effort said, “Did you see his wife?”
“He is a widower; except the little boy that we rescued from the wreck, he has none belonging to him.”
“Come along, M’Kinlay, we are waiting for you,” cried Sir Gervais; and the lawyer moved away, while Georgina, with a motion of her finger to her lips, to enjoin secresy, turned and left the room.
CHAPTER XXII. SOME WORDS AT PARTING
It was as the Vyners sat at breakfast the following morning, that the servant announced the arrival of an old countryman and a little girl, who had just come by the stage.
“Oh! may I go, papa, may I go and see her?” cried Ada, eagerly; but Sir Gervais had stooped across to whisper something to his wife, and the governess, deeming the moment favourable to exert her authority, moved away at once with her charge.
“The peasant child that we told you of, Sir Within,” said Lady Vyner, “has arrived, and it is a rare piece of fortune you are here, for we shall steal a travelling opinion out of you.”