Much like an angel in all form and fashion.
SPENSER.
Margaret was welcomed to Ashdale with such sincere pleasure by Mr. Grey and her Italian greyhound, that she could not find it in her heart to regret the social circle she left behind. Seated in a low chair by her uncle's side, with Gessina on her lap, she spent the evening alternately in playing with her beautiful pet, and of giving him a history of her week's visit.
Mr. Grey, like many people who live very retired, delighted in this species of gossip. He was pleased to hear the names of the people who dined at Captain Gage's during her stay, and the dresses which Margaret had worn on each day. And if, during her narrative, she happened to mention a name that was familiar to him, he would interrupt her to remark that he had known a person of that name many years ago, who was of such a county; and to wonder whether the one Margaret had met, was related or not, to his old acquaintance.
These episodes were sometimes interrupted by the perverseness of Gessina, who would creep under the sofas, or the heavy chairs, and had to be fished out from these hiding places by the united industry of Mr. Haveloc and Margaret.
These little pursuits seemed to bring them still more acquainted, so that sometimes she ventured to appeal to him during her recollections to confirm her statements.
"And so she lost the ball at last, poor child," said Mr. Grey drawing her towards him. "What a pity that was!"
"Oh, yes uncle! I was very sorry at first. But I had such a head-ache. Do you ever smoke cigars, Mr. Haveloc?"
"I have done such a thing," said he smiling. "But it is not a practice of mine."
"And how did you spend that evening, my love?" said Mr. Grey, who had not perceived the connexion between the ball and the cigars.
"I sat talking with Harriet Conway until I went to bed. Do you know Harriet, Sir?"