The pleasant chuckle with which Mr. Cutbill finished his speech was not responded to by his Lordship, who felt that the other should have accepted his compliment, without any attempt on his own part to “cap” it.
“How long do you imagine I may be detained here, Cutbill?” asked he, after a pause.
“Let us say a week, my Lord, or ten days at furthest. We ought certainly to see that new pit opened, before you leave.”
“In that case I may as well accept this invitation. I can bear a little boredom if they have only a good cook. Do you suppose they have a good cook?”
“The agent, Jos Harding, told me they had a Frenchman, and that the house is splendidly got up.”
“What's to be done with you, Cutbill, eh?”
“I am at your Lordship's orders,” said he, with a very quiet composure.
“You have nothing to do over at that place just now?—I mean at the mine.”
“No, my Lord. Till Pollard makes his report, I have nothing to call me over there.”
“And here, I take it, we have seen everything,” and he gave a very hopeless look through the little window as he spoke.