“Your complaisance does credit to your good nature, sir,” exclaimed the old man. “But we can not take advantage of it.”
“It is too good of you,” remarked the elder sister with a glance replete with more gratitude than the occasion demanded. “Really, though, we could not think of it.”
“Thank you; thank you,” joined in the wiry old lady, bobbing up and down like a miniature figure moved by the unseen hand of the showman. “Allow me, sir!” And she gravely tendered him a huge snuff-box of tortoise shell, which he declined; whereupon she continued:
“You do not use it? New fashions; new habits! Though whether for the better is not for me to say.”
She helped herself to a liberal portion and passed the box to the portly old gentleman. Here the landlord, in a surly tone, told the stable boy to remove the gentleman’s things and show the ladies to their rooms. Before going, the girl in the provoking hood––now unfastened, and freeing sundry rebellious brown curls where the moisture yet sparkled like dew––turned to the old man:
“You are coming up directly? Your stock wants changing, while your ruffles”––laughing––“are disgraceful!”
“Presently, my dear; presently!” he returned.
The members of the company mounted the broad stairway, save the driver of the coach––he of the disordered ruffles––who wiped his heavy boots on a door mat and made his way to the fire, where he stood in English fashion with his coat-tails under his arms, rubbing his hands and drying himself before the flames.
“A disagreeable time of year, sir,” he observed to the soldier, who had returned to his seat before the table. “Twice on the road we nearly broke down, and once the wagon dumped our properties in the ditch. Meanwhile, to make matters worse, the ladies heaped reproaches upon these gray hairs. This, sir, to the man who was considered one of the best whips in old Devonshire county.”