"Dear Miss Banborough," began the journalist, sitting down beside her, "what a reproach it is to idle men like myself to see such industry!"
"It's very kind of you, I'm sure, to notice my humble labours," replied the old lady, expanding at once under the first word of flattery. "My brother tells me you're connected with a great newspaper. How ennobling that must be! It gives you such a wide scope for doing good."
Marchmont, who had hardly adopted journalism for this purpose, and was conscious of having done his fair share of mischief in the world, made a desperate effort to look the part assigned to him, and murmuring something about the inspiration, to toilers like himself, of such self-sacrificing lives as hers, abruptly turned the conversation by alluding to the pleasure which she must have felt at her nephew's return.
"Of course we're very glad to have him back," acceded Miss Matilda. "But then we see little or nothing of him."
"Naturally," said the journalist, "his days must be given up to his friends. How you must be looking forward to the time when you can have him quite to yourself!"
The gleam that came into the old lady's eye at this remark told him that he had not been mistaken in fancying her hostile to the strangers, and he hastened to continue such a fruitful theme, saying:
"I suppose that, as they've been here a month now, you'll be losing them soon."
"I can't say," she snapped. "They seem to be staying for an indefinite period."
"Really?" he replied. "I shouldn't have fancied that your nephew would have found them very congenial. Indeed, if you'll pardon my frankness, I was rather surprised to meet them here."
Miss Matilda at once gave him her undivided attention.