“That is true. Well, then, I have no scruple in asking you to join us;” and he gave Grace a look, as much as to say, “Am I not a considerate person?”
“I am infinitely obliged to you, Mr. Raby,” said Coventry, seriously; “I will come.”
“You will stay to luncheon, godpapa?”
“Never touch it. Good-by. Well, then, Christmas-eve I shall expect you both. Dinner at six. But come an hour or two before it, if you can: and Jael, my girl, you know you must dine at the hall on Christmas-eve, and old Christmas-eve as usual, you and your sister and the old man.”
Jael courtesied, and said with homely cordiality, “We shall be there, sir, please God we are alive.”
“Bring your gun, Coventry. There's a good sprinkling of pheasants left. By-the-bye, what about that pedigree of yours; does it prove the point?”
“Completely. Dorothy Raby, Sir Richard's youngest sister, married Thomas Coventry, who was out in the forty-five. I'm having the pedigree copied for you, at a stationer's near.”
“I should like to see it.”
“I'll go with you, and show it to you, if you like.”
Mr. Raby was evidently pleased at this attention, and they went off together.