“Now for bags and baggage! Frances—umbrellas, dressing-bag, papers—that’s all right. Rosamund? Come along, darlings, you must get out everything while I see to the luggage. Porter! Ah, Trewin, good-afternoon. Is the trap outside? Just show these young ladies the way, and then come back for the trunks. How’s the wife?”
“Better, thank you, Mrs. Tregaskis,” said the man, touching his cap with a grin.
“That’s right. Tell her I’ll be round to see her in a day or two.”
Kind, competent Mrs. Tregaskis hurried along, beaming and exchanging greetings with one or two porters and a newspaper-boy.
“How pleased they all are to see her,” said Frances wistfully. “Isn’t it cold, Rosamund?”
“It’s much colder than at home. Turn up your collar, Francie. Do you think we shall go to the house in a cab?”
“No—she said the old man would drive down in a trap. I suppose it’s the coachman.”
“I think she meant Cousin Frederick. She said ‘my old man.’”
“Oh! Is he very old?” asked Frances in rather awe-struck tones.
“I suppose he must be.”