"Do you remember the last time we stood here, John? I do, well!"
But soon the happy smile faded from his lips, and left them pressed together in a firm, almost painful gravity. He was not only a lover but a man. And no man could go to meet what he knew he must meet in this house, and on this errand, altogether unmoved. One might foresee a good deal—even in the knowing side-glance of the servant, whom he startled with his name, "Mr. Halifax."
"Mr. Brithwood's busy, sir—better come to-morrow," suggested the man—evidently knowing enough upon his master's affairs.
"I am sorry to trouble him—but I must see Mr. Brithwood to-day."
And John determinedly followed the man into the grand empty dining-room, where, on crimson velvet chairs, we sat and contemplated the great stag's head with its branching horns, the silver flagons and tankards, and the throstles hopping outside across the rainy lawn: at our full leisure, too, for the space of fifteen minutes.
"This will not do," said John—quietly enough, though this time it was with a less steady hand that he pulled the bell.
"Did you tell your master I was here?"
"Yes, sir." And the grin with which the footman came in somehow slid away from his mouth's corners.
"How soon may I have the honour of seeing him?"
"He says, sir, you must send up your business by me."