“I have either promised, or he fancies I have promised, to pay him a flying visit.”
“Another case of a savage princess,” whispered Mrs. Trafford; and he laughed heartily at the conceit. “If we take the low road,—it's very little longer and much prettier,—we pass the cottage; and if your visit be not of great length, more than a morning call, in fact,—I 'll go there with you.”
“You overwhelm me with obligations,” said he, bowing low, to which she replied by a courtesy so profound as to throw an air of ridicule over his courtly politeness.
“Shall we say to-morrow for our departure, Mr. Maitland?”
“I am at your orders, madam.”
“Well, then, I'll write to dear old Aunt Maxwell—I suppose she'll be your aunt too before you leave Tilney (for we all adopt a relation so very rich and without an heir)—and delight her by saying that I have secured Mr. Maitland, an announcement which will create a flutter in the neighborhood by no means conducive to good archery.”
“Tell her we only give him up till Wednesday,” said Lady Lyle, “for I hope to have the Crayshaws here by that time, and I shall need you all back to receive them.”
“More beauties, Mr. Maitland,” exclaimed Mrs. Trafford. “What are you looking so grave about?”
“I was thinking it was just possible that I might be called away suddenly, and that there are some letters I ought to write; and, last of all, whether I should n't go and make, a hurried visit to Mrs. Butler; for in talking over old friends in Scotland, we have grown already intimate.”
“What a mysterious face for such small concerns!” said Mrs. Trafford. “Did n't you say something, papa, about driving me over to look at the two-year-olds?”