Beyond its cool depths was sunshine, with grass and pink geraniums overflowing from stone vases. A fountain in the middle leapt and sank and plashed in a stone basin.
There was a door at the other side of the courtyard—an arched door with steps leading up to it. On the steps stood a footman.
‘He’s exactly like the one in Alice,’ said Caroline; ‘courage and despatch.’
The footman looked curiously at the three children, hot, dusty, and untidy, who advanced through the trim parterre. His glance dwelt more especially on the battered bouquet, on Charlotte’s unspeakable hat, and the riven stocking of Charles.
‘If you please,’ said Caroline, her heart beating heavily, ‘we want to see Lord Andore.’
‘’Slordship’s not at heum,’ said the footman, looking down upon them.
‘When will he be back?’ Charlotte asked, while Caroline suddenly wished that they had at least brought their gloves.
‘Can’t say’m sheur,’ said the footman, doing something to his teeth with a pin; and his tone was wondrous like Mrs. Wilmington’s.
‘We want very much to see him,’ said Charles. ‘You see we’ve brought him a bouquet.’