"Never went to London at all!" muttered K. I., for he could n't get his thoughts out of the old track. And, indeed, though we were all talking to him for more than an hour afterwards, it was easy to see that he was just standing still on the same spot as before. I don't ever remember passing a day of such anxiety as that, for every distant noise of wheels, every crack of a postilion's whip, brought us to the window to see if they were coming. We delayed dinner till seven o'clock, and put K. I.'s watch back, to persuade him it was only five; we loitered and lingered over it as long as we could, but no sight nor sound was there of their coming.
"Tell Paddy to fetch my slippers, Molly," said K. I., as we got into the drawing-room.
"Oh, papa! impossible," said she; "the Countess may arrive at any moment."
"Think of his never going to London at all," said he, with a groan.
I almost cried with spite, to see a man so lost to every sentiment of proper pride, and even dead to the prospects of his own children!
"Don't you think I might have a cigar?" said he.
"Is it here, papa?" said Mary Anne. "The smell of tobacco would certainly disgust the Countess."
"He thinks it would be more flattering to receive her into all the intimacy of the family," said I, "and see us without any disguise."
"Egad, then," said he, bitterly, "she's come too late for that; she should have made our acquaintance before we began vagabondizing over Europe, and pretending to fifty things we 've no right to!"
"Here she is,—here they are!" screamed Mary Anne at this moment; and, with a loud noise like thunder, the heavy carriage rolled under the arched gateway, while crack—crack—crack went the whips, and the big bell of the ball began ringing away furiously.