“Of course you ought,” said Vizard.
No objection was taken, and they rather thought he would go next day. But that was not his game. It would never do to go while they were in London. So he kept postponing, and saying he would not tear himself away; and at last, the day before they were to go down to Barfordshire, he affected to yield to a remonstrance of Vizard, and said he would see them off, and then run down to Huntingdonshire, look into his affairs, and cross the country to Barfordshire.
“You might take Homburg on the way,” said Fanny, out of fun—her fun—not really meaning it.
Severne cast a piteous look at Zoe. “For shame, Fanny!” said she. “And why put Homburg into his head?”
“When I had forgotten there was such a place,” said Mr. Severne, taking his cue dexterously from Zoe, and feigning innocent amazement. Zoe colored with pleasure. This was at breakfast. At afternoon tea something happened. The ladies were upstairs packing, an operation on which they can bestow as many hours as the thing needs minutes. One servant brought in the tea; another came in soon after with a card, and said it was for Miss Vizard; but he brought it to Harrington. He read it:
“MISS RHODA GALE, M.D.”
“Send it up to Miss Vizard,” said he. The man was going out: he stopped him, and said, “You can show the lady in here, all the same.”
Rhoda Gale was ushered in. She had a new gown and bonnet, not showy, but very nice. She colored faintly at sight of the two gentlemen; but Vizard soon put her at her ease. He shook hands with her, and said, “Sit down, Miss Gale; my sister will soon be here. I have sent your card up to her.”
“Shall I tell her?” said Severne, with the manner of one eager to be agreeable to the visitor.
“If you please, sir,” said Miss Gale.