The little toy terrier pointed its nose at the ceiling, and uttered a wretched, attenuated howl, cut short by Miss Matilda, who popped the antimacassar down; for at that moment there was heard upon the stairs a sonorous “Er-rum! Er-rum!”—a reverberating, awe-inspiring sound, as of a mighty orator clearing his voice before sending verbal thunder through an opposing crowd. Then came steps across the marble hall, the door handle rattled very loudly, the door was thrown open very widely, and entered Sir Hampton Rea.
The sounds indicated bigness—grandeur; but Sir Hampton Rea was not a big man—saving his head, which was so large that it had sunk a little down between his shoulders, where it looked massive and shiny, being very bald and surrounded by a frizzle of grizzly hair.
Sir Hampton came in stiffly, for his buff vest was as starchy as his shirt front and sprigged cravat, which acted like a garrote, though its wearer suffered it, on account of its imposing aspect, and now walked with long strides to the fire, to which he turned his back, threw up his chin, and made his bald crown double in the glass.
“Matilda, have the goodness to close the door.”
“Yes, dear,” and the door was closed.
“Matilda, have the goodness to ring for the urn. Oh, it is here!”
In effect, hissing and steaming, the urn was brought in by Edward, and the tea-caddy placed upon the table.
“Edward!”
“Yes, Sir Hampton.”
“Tell Miss Smith to inform her ladyship that we are waiting breakfast.”