“I would not send you anyone I thought unworthy of the honour,” answered my wife.
Percivale bowed—one of his stately, old-world bows, which I greatly liked.
“Any friend of yours—that is guarantee sufficient,” he answered.
There was this peculiarity about any compliment that Percivale paid, that you had not a doubt of its being genuine.
“Will you come and take an early dinner with us?” said my wife. “My invalid daughter will be very pleased to see you.”
“I will with pleasure,” he answered, but in a tone of some hesitation, as he glanced from Ethelwyn to me.
“My wife speaks for us all,” I said. “It will give us all pleasure.”
“I am only afraid it will break in upon your morning’s work,” remarked Ethelwyn.
“O, that is not of the least consequence,” he rejoined. “In fact, as I have just been saying to Mr. Walton, I am not working at all at present. This is pure recreation.”
As he spoke he turned towards his easel, and began hastily to bundle up his things.