“Into the front drawing-room, sir.”
“Nonsense—bring him in here.”
The servant bowed and left the room.
“Such a free and easy visitor is not to be treated with formality. It is as I foresaw, ladies! Lord William Daw waits to pay his respects.”
At that moment the door was once more opened, and the visitor announced.
Lord William Daw was a pleasing, wholesome, rather than a handsome or distinguished-looking youth—with a short, stout figure, dark eyes and dark hair, a round rosy face, and white teeth, and an expression full of good-humor, frank and easy among his friends, and disembarrassed among strangers to whom he was indifferent, he was yet timid and bashful as a girl in presence of those whom he admired and honored; how much more so in the society of her—the beautiful and regal woman who had won his young heart’s first and deepest worship. With all this the youngster possessed an indomitable will and power of perseverance, which, when aroused, few men, or things, could withstand, and which his messmates at Oxford denominated (your pardon, super-refined reader) an “English bull-dogish—hold-on-a-tiveness.”
Lord William entered the breakfast-room, smiling and blushing between pleasure and embarrassment.
Colonel Compton arose and advanced, with a cordial smile and extended hand, to welcome him. “Heartily glad to see you, sir! And here are Mrs. Compton, and my daughter Cornelia, and my sweetheart, Marguerite, all waiting to shake hands with you.”
The ladies arose, and Lord William, set at ease by this friendly greeting, paid his respects quite pleasingly.
“And now here is a chair and plate ready for you, for we hope that you have not breakfasted?” said the host.