“Are you there? Shall I come down?” said Anthony’s voice from the top of the steps.
“No, no, wait a moment; we are coming, we are coming this instant,” said Mr Mannering, hurriedly. “Take care of the wet, Miss Winifred,—here we are; thank you, yes, I prefer to lock the house for the night. And how did you find the tortoise, and what did you do to him, Anthony?”
“Do to him? I did nothing,—at least, I only moved him to the sunny side of the wall, where he will be a good deal better off.”
They were strolling towards the road, Mr Mannering with his hands locked behind his back, and a twinkle of amusement about eyes and mouth.
“Thank you, my dear boy, thank you,” he said, gravely. “But I should be a good fourteen stone to carry, and, to tell the truth, I would rather stay where I am.”
“What do you mean?” said Anthony, puzzled. “Was I talking to myself? I beg your pardon,—it was the oddest idea,—do you know, just for a moment I had a feeling at the back of my neck as if I were the tortoise.”
Chapter Four.
“I did but chide in jest: the best loves use it
Sometimes; it sets an edge upon affection:
When we invite our best friends to a feast,
’Tis not all sweetmeat that we set before ’em;
There’s something sharp and salt, both to whet appetite
And make ’em taste their wine well.”
Middleton.