“It’s a dear old home, Lady Rea, indeed,” said Trevor, enthusiastically.
“Though you must have found it very sad,” said Lady Rea.
“No,” said Trevor, frankly; “it would be mockery in me to say so. My parents died when I was so very young, that I never could feel their loss: I hardly knew what it was to have any one to love.”
“Let him look at her now, if he dare,” thought Fin, with her eyes sparkling.
But Trevor did not dare; he only gazed in Lady Rea’s pleasant face, and she made Aunt Matty shiver—firstly, by laying her hand in a soothing way upon the young man’s arm; secondly, by saying she would put herself under an obligation to this dreadful seafaring person, by accepting his offer of flowers; and thirdly, by the following terribly imprudent speech—
“I’m sure I don’t know where dear papa can be gone; but as he’s not here, Mr Trevor, you must let me say that whenever you feel dull and lonely, you must come up here and have a chat, and some music, or something of that sort. We shall always be delighted to see you.”
“Er-rum! Er-rum!” came from the garden.
“Oh! here’s papa!” cried Lady Rea. “I’m glad he’s come!”
“Er-rum!” came again, and then steps and voices were heard in the conservatory—voices which made Trevor rise and look annoyed.
The next moment Sir Hampton ushered two gentlemen into the drawing-room through the conservatory.