They were driving over an open heath in its summer carpet-like state of purple heather, dwarf gorse, and bracken. Lord Northmoor looked out, with thoughtfulness in his face. By and by there was a gate, a lodge, a curtseying woman, and as they passed it, he said, ‘Now, this is Northmoor.’
‘Yours, uncle?’
‘Yes.’
‘My—!’ was all Herbert could utter. It semed to his town-bred eyes a huge space before they reached, through some rather scanty plantations, another lodge, and a park, not very extensive, but
with a few fine trees, and they thundered up beneath the pillars to what was, to his idea, a palace—with servants standing about in a great hall.
His uncle would have turned one way, but a servant said, ‘Miss Morton is in the morning-room, my Lord,’ and ushered them into a room where a lady in black came forward.
‘You did not expect to find me here still,’ she said cordially; ‘but Adela is gone to her brother’s, and I thought I had better stay for the division of—of the things.’
‘Oh, certainly—I am—glad,’ he stammered, with a blush as one not quite sure of the correctness of the proceeding. ‘I wouldn’t have intruded—’
‘Bosh! I’m the intruder. Letitia Bury is gone—alas—but,’ said she, laughing, ‘Hailes is here—staying,’ she added to relieve him and to lessen the confusion that amused her, ‘and I see you have a companion. Your nephew—?’
‘Yes, Herbert, my late brother’s son. I would not have brought him if I had known.’