“Perhaps so,” he said, with a faint laugh; “but really, Roy, you will not be so hard upon me as to refuse that favour. Do not make me think that now you are castellan, you are becoming a tyrant.”
“There is no fear of my son becoming a tyrant, Master Pawson,” said Lady Royland, smiling, and with something suggesting contempt for the speaker in her tones.—“Roy, dear, I think you might manage to let the lower room remain as it is for Master Pawson’s use, if the upper floor is given up to the men. He could have the room next to yours for a bedchamber.”
“Oh, that would not be necessary,” said the secretary, eagerly. “The one room is all I want—it can be my bedchamber too.”
“I hardly know what to say, mother,” said the boy, gravely.—“Well, then, Master Pawson, keep your study; but we must have the upper room at once, and if you are annoyed by the going to and fro of the men on the staircase, you must not blame me.”
“My dear boy,” he cried, with effusion, “pray do not think me so unreasonable. I am most grateful to you, Lady Royland, and to you too, Roy. I shall never forget this kindness. I will go and see to the new arrangement at once. Can I have two servants to help to move down the few things I shall want?”
“You can have two of the garrison, Master Pawson,” replied Roy, smiling; “they all consider themselves to be soldiers now.”
“Thank you, thank you,” he cried, in a voice which sounded as if it were choked by emotion, and he hastily left the room.
“I wish he would not be so dreadfully smooth,” said Roy, petulantly. “I want to like Master Pawson, but somehow he always makes me feel cross.”
“He is rather too fond of thanking one for every little favour; but it is his manner, dear, and he has certainly been doing his best to help us in this time of need.”
“Yes,” said Roy; “and we should have thought bad enough of him if he had gone and left us in the lurch. There, mother, I must go and see Ben Martlet and tell him what has been arranged. He will not like it, though; but he will have two things out of three.”