"I want you and Mr. Fletcher to come to us to-morrow instead of this evening. Lady Caroline Brithwood wishes to see you."
"Me?"
"Yes, you," smiled the old lady; "you, John Halifax, the hero of the people, who quelled the bread riots, and gave evidence thereupon to Mr. Pitt, in London. Nay! why didn't you tell me the wonderful story? Her Ladyship is full of it. She will torment me till she sees you—I know her ways. For my sake, you MUST come."
Waiting no refusal, Mrs. Jessop drove on.
"What's that?" said my father, sharply. "John, where art thee going?"
I knew this was the first warning-gun of a battle which broke out afresh every time John appeared in any livelier garb than his favourite grey, or was suspected of any more worldly associates than our quiet selves. He always took my father's attacks patiently—this time peculiarly so. He made no answer, but passed his hand once or twice over his brow, as if he could not see clearly.
Abel Fletcher repeated the question.
"Yes; that was Mrs. Jessop, sir."
"I know," grumbled my father. "The doctor is a fool in his old age. Who did she want thee to meet?"
"She!—Oh, Lady Caroline, you mean?"