Then Mrs. Hammond sunk down into a pleasant ottoman fitted into a recess close by the glowing fire, and Sir Charles Mitford, looking round for a seat, obeyed the silent invitation conveyed to him in her eyes and in the movement of her dress, and seated himself by her side.
"Well, you must have a great deal to tell me," she commenced. "I saw in the Post that you had left town, and therefore imagined that Captain Bligh's arrangements were concluded. And how do you like Redmoor?"
"It's a glorious place, really a glorious place, though I've been rather bored there for the last two or three days--wanted people there, you know, and that sort of thing. But the place itself is first-rate. I've chosen your rooms. I did that the first day."
"Did you?" said she, her eyes sparkling with delight; "and where are they?"
"They are in the south wing, looking over the civilized side of the country, and are to my thinking the very best rooms in the house."
"And you chose them for us, and thought of us directly you arrived! How very, very kind of you! But suppose we should be unable to come?"
"What! unable to come! Mrs. Hammond, you're chaffing me, eh?"
"No, indeed. Mr. Hammond's health is in that wretched state, that I doubt whether Dr. Bronk would sanction his being moved, even to the soft air and all the luxuries of Redmoor."
"Oh, do him good, I'm sure; could do him no possible harm. He should have everything he wanted, you know; and the doctor could come spinning over there every day, for the matter of that. But at any rate you won't disappoint us?"
"I don't think my not coming would be keenly felt by many."