“I am disposed to agree with you,” said he, gravely.
“Besides,” added Sir Arthur, “he must have come over in the 'Foyle,' and ought to be able to bring me some news of my horses. Those two rough nights have made me very uneasy about them.”
“Another reason for a little attention on his part,” said her Ladyship, bridling; and then, as if anxious to show that so insignificant a theme could not weigh on her thoughts, she asked her daughter when Mark and Isabella purposed coming home.
“They spoke of Saturday, mamma; but it seems now that Mrs. Maxwell has got up—or somebody has for her—an archery meeting for Tuesday, and she writes a most pressing entreaty for me to drive over, and, if possible, persuade Mr. Maitland to accompany me.”
“Which I sincerely trust he will not think of.”
“And why, dearest mamma?”
“Can you ask me, Alice? Have we not pushed Mr. Maitland's powers of patience far enough by our own dulness, without subjecting him to the stupidities of Tilney Park?—the dreariest old mansion of a dreary neighborhood.”
“But he might like it. As a matter of experimental research, he told us how he passed an autumn with the Mandans, and ate nothing but eels and wood-squirrels.”
“You are forgetting the prairie rats, which are really delicacies.”
“Nor did I include the charms of the fair Chachinhontas, who was the object of your then affections,” said she, laughingly, but in a lower tone.