“Oh, yes, of course we are, Arthur; but as I have often said, there does seem to be a something wanting, and—‘The directors of the New Polwheedle and Verity Friendship Tin Mining’—Oh, dear, dear, just as if we had money to throw down Cornish mines. What’s this? I don’t know this hand. There’s a crest upon the envelope, and ‘H.B.’ in the corner. Oh! it’s from Doctor Bolter.”
“Postmark Penang?” said the Reverend Arthur. “Wondered I had not heard from him.”
“No, it’s from London. Let me see. All about specimens, I suppose.”
My Dear Rosebury,—
I’m in England for a month or two, and am coming down to see you and chat over old times. Don’t make any fuss, old fellow! Bed on a sofa will do for an old campaigner like me. I’ve got business your way—to see some young ladies at Mayleyfield—daughters of two people out in the Peninsula. Been educated at home, and I am going to be their escort back. Nuisance, but must do it; expect me to-morrow.
Yours very truly,—
Harry Bolter.
The Reverend Arthur Rosebury.
“Why, Arthur, he’s coming here!”
“Yes, my dear. I’m very glad!”
“But to-day, Arthur! What shall I do?”
“Do, my dear Mary? Nothing! Bolter never wants anything done for him, unless he’s very much altered, and I don’t think he will be.”
“But the young ladies at Mayleyfield? Why that must be at Miss Twettenham’s establishment!”
“Very probably, my dear!” said the Reverend Arthur, getting up to walk up and down the room. “I shall be very, very glad to see Harry Bolter. I wonder whether he has brought any specimens?”