“But he is going to be as good as gold, and grow into a noble gentleman, of whom his country will be proud. There, now we understand each other. Mr Trimmer is late this morning.”
“Scissors! How she made me squirm!” muttered the boy, who had risen and walked to the window as if to hide his emotion with the scented white handkerchief he drew from his pocket. “He isn’t late, auntie—just his usual time.”
“Dear, dear, and your uncle not yet down!”
“Shall I go and rout him out, auntie?”
“No, my dear,” said the lady, sternly, “I will speak to him when he comes down.”
“Do, auntie. Tell him he loses all the fresh morning air,” said the boy, demurely, feeling in the breast-pocket of his jacket the while, and causing a faint crackling sound as of writing-paper, while he noted that the lady was resuming her perusal of the morning’s letters.
Just then the breakfast-room door opened and a pretty little dark-eyed parlourmaid entered the room.
“Mr Trimmer is in the libery, my lady.”
“Show him in here, Jane,” said Lady Lisle, without raising her eyes, “and tell Mark to have the pony-carriage round in half an hour.”
“Yes, my lady.”