The very hint of an attention, the merest suggestion that bordered on a civility, struck a chord in old Dalton's nature that moved all his sympathies. It was at once a recognition of himself and his ancestry for generations back. It was a rehabilitation of all the Dal tons of Mount Dalton for centuries past; and as he extended a hand to each, and invited them to walk in, he half felt himself at home again, doing the honors of his house, and extending those hospitalities that had brought him to beggary.
“Are you serious about the shooting-party?” whispered Onslow to Jekyl, as he walked forward.
“Of course not. It's only a 'Grecian horse,' to get inside the citadel.”
“My daughter, Miss Dalton; Mr. Jekyl Miss Kate Dalton. Your friend's name, I believe, is—”
“Captain Onslow.”
Lady Hester started at the name, and, rising, at once said,
“Oh, George, I must introduce you to my fair friends. Miss Dalton, this gentleman calls me 'mamma;' or, at least, if he does not, it is from politeness. Captain Onslow Mr. Dalton. Now, by what fortunate event came you here?”
“Ought I not to ask the same question of your Ladyship?” said George, archly.
“If you like; only that, as I asked first—”
“You shall be answered first. Lady Hester Onslow, allow me to present Mr. Albert Jekyl.”