“Granted, sir. He is all that you say, but he has a temper. You wanted a quieter animal—a nice weight-bearing, steady cob.”
“Indeed!” said Mr Elthorne, sarcastically, “or a donkey. I’m growing so old and feeble.”
“You rang, sir,” said the quiet, staid looking butler.
“Yes; send one of the maids up to ask Mrs Barnett—humph! Never mind.”
The butler held open the door for a rather stout, florid looking, middle-aged lady to enter, which she did in a hurried, bustling way, pressing her pince-nez on to her nose.
“Good-morning!” she exclaimed. “I am so sorry, Ralph. I hope I have not kept you waiting.”
“Oh, dear, no,” began Mr Elthorne. “Oh, hang it all, Anne, do mind,” he continued, as there was a click caused by the encountering of two pairs of spectacles, as the lady kissed him, and then bustled on to salute Alison with a similar kiss to that bestowed upon his father.
“Morning, my dear. Good-morning once more, Isabel, my dear.”
“And how are you now you have come?” said Mr Elthorne gruffly.
“Oh, not at all well, Ralph, dear,” sighed the lady, as she settled herself in her chair and spread her snowy napkin across her knees. “What have you there, Alison, dear? Yes, I’ll take one. Coffee, please, Isabel dear. It’s very chilly this morning.”