‘Oh! Miss Charlecote, thank you—thank you.’ The quiet girl’s face and neck were all one crimson glow of delight.
‘If you can sleep in a little brown cupboard of a room in the very core of the City’s heart.’
‘Delightful! I have so wished to see that house. Owen has told me such things about it. Oh, thank you, Miss Charlecote!’
‘Have you ever seen anything in London?’
‘Never. We hardly ever go with the rest; and if we do, we only walk in the square. What a holiday it will be!’
‘We will see everything, and do it justice. I’ll get an order for the print-room at the British Museum. I day say Robin never saw it either; and what a treat it will be to take you to the Egyptian Gallery!’ cried Honora, excited into looking at the expedition in the light of a party of pleasure, as she saw happiness beaming in the young face opposite.
They built up their schemes in the open window, pausing to listen to the nightingales, who, having ceased for two hours, apparently for supper, were now in full song, echoing each other in all the woods of Hiltonbury, casting over it a network of sweet melody. Honora was inclined to regret leaving them in their glory; but Phœbe, with the world before her, was too honest to profess poetry which she did not feel. Nightingales were all very well in their place, but the first real sight of London was more.
The lamp came in, and Phœbe held out her hands for something to do, and was instantly provided with a child’s frock, while Miss Charlecote read to her one of Fouqué’s shorter tales by way of supplying the element of chivalrous imagination which was wanting in the Beauchamp system of education.
So warm was the evening, that the window remained open, until Ponto erected his crest as a footfall came steadily along, nearer and nearer. Uplifting one of his pendant lips, he gave a low growl through his blunted teeth, and listened again; but apparently satisfied that the step was familiar, he replaced his head on his crossed paws, and presently Robert Fulmort’s head and the upper part of his person, in correct evening costume, were thrust in at the window, the moonlight making his face look very white, as he said, ‘Come, Phœbe, make haste; it is very late.’
‘Is it?’ cried Phœbe, springing up; ‘I thought I had only been here an hour.’