“Read the note again,—he writes so very briefly always. I 'm sure I wish the dear man would understand that I am not a client, and that a letter is not exactly all it might be, because it can be charged its thirteen-and-fourpence, or six-and-eightpence, whatever it is.”
Miss Kennyfeck took an open note from the chimney, and read:—
Dear Mrs. Kennyfeck,—We have made all the necessary
arrangements in London, and shall leave on the 2nd, so as
to arrive at Merrion Square by the 5th. Mr. C—— would,
I believe, rather have remained another day in town; but
there was no possibility of doing so, as the “Chancellor”
will sit on Tuesday. Love to the girls, and believe me,
yours very truly,
M. Kennyfeck.
Invite Jones and Softly to meet us at dinner.
The clock on the mantelpiece now struck seven; and scarcely had the last chime died away as a carriage drove up to the door.
“Here they come, I suppose,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with a half-sigh.
“No, mamma; it is a hackney-coach. Mr. Jones, or Mr. Softly, perhaps.”
“Oh, dear! I had forgotten them. How absurd it was to ask these people, and your father not here.”
The door opened, and the servant announced the Rev. Mr. Knox Softly. A very tall, handsome young man entered, and made a most respectful but cordial salutation to the ladies. He was in look and mien the beau idéal of health, strength, and activity, with bright, full blue eyes, and cheeks rosy as the May. His voice, however, was subdued to the dulcet accent of a low whisper, and his step, as he crossed the room, had the stealthy noiselessness of a cat's approach.
“Mr. Kennyfeck quite restored, I hope, from the fatigue of his journey?”