“Uncle!”
“Have you done that letter, my pet?—Yes? That’s well. Now, you stand there and take care of me, for fear Mr Barclay should fly in a passion.”
“Sir, I asked you not to treat me like a boy,” says Mr Barclay bitterly.
“I’m not going to,” says Sir John, as he sat playing with Miss Virginia’s hand, while I could see that the poor darling’s face was convulsed, and she was trying to hide the tears which streamed down. “I’m going to treat you as a man. You can have what money you want. Be off for a year’s travel. Hunt, shoot, go round the world, what you like; but don’t come back here for a twelvemonth.—Burdon, take that letter over to the Misses Mimpriss, and wait for an answer.”
I took the note across, wondering what would be said while I was gone, and knowing why Sir John wanted his son to go as well as he did, and Miss Virginia too, poor thing. The knocker seemed to make the house opposite echo very strangely, as I thumped; but when the door was opened in a few minutes, everything in the hall seemed very proper and prim, while the maid who came looked as stiff and disagreeable as could be.
“For Miss Mimpriss, from Sir John Drinkwater,” I said; “and I’ll wait for an answer.”
“Very well,” says the woman shortly.
“I’ll wait for an answer,” I said, for she was shutting the door.
“Yes; I heard,” she says, and the door was shut in my face.
“Hang all old maids!” I said. “They needn’t be afraid of me;” and there I waited till I heard steps again and the door was opened; and the ill-looking woman says in a snappish tone: “Miss Adela Mimpriss’s compliments, and she’ll come across directly.”