“Are you quite sure of that?”
“Quite. But, anyway, I don’t want to go back there, except when I can’t help it, for the sake of being with Ces. I was bored stiff at Squires. Surely you remember that,” said Rose naïvely.
“Yes?—well, I’m sorry. After all, that was some little while ago, and perhaps I’d hoped that time—and distance—might have softened your prejudice.”
Rose was beginning a vigorous protest at this description of her own attitude towards Squires when Mr. Smith came into the room.
“Uncle A., this is Lord Charlesbury—my uncle, Mr. Smith,” said Rose, stammering a little.
Uncle Alfred bowed, Lord Charlesbury stood up and held out his hand, and they exchanged greetings.
“How d’you do,” said Lord Charlesbury.
“Good evening, my lord. I am very well, I thank you,” said Uncle Alfred. “Sit down again, if you please. Am I intruding?”
“In your own house, Uncle A.? Whatever next, I wonder?” muttered his niece. She pushed forward the old man’s chair and they all three sat down. The three-cornered conversation that ensued was remarkable neither for smoothness nor for spontaneity.
Charlesbury alone spoke with an effect of being at his ease, and Rose uneasily suspected that this was rather the result of the habit of good breeding, than from any natural affinity with his present audience. Uncle Alfred said “my lord” a great many times, but kept a wary and distrustful eye upon his guest, and from time to time transferred his glance to Rose, as though reviewing the two in conjunction.