“Oh, he is my other cousin! He is at Harrow, and his clothes fit me perfectly. Is this your house?”
“This is my house.”
“But wait!” said Miss Creed. “Will not the porter be sitting up to open the door to you?”
“I don’t encourage people to sit up for me,” said Sir Richard, producing from his pocket a key, and fitting it into the lock.
“But I expect you have a valet,” suggested Miss Creed, hanging back. “He will be waiting to help you to bed.”
“True,” said Sir Richard. “But he will not come to my room until I ring the bell. You need have no fear.”
“Oh, in that case—!” said Miss Creed, relieved, and followed him blithely into the house.
A lamp was burning in the hall, and a candle was placed on a marble-topped table, in readiness for Sir Richard. He kindled it by thrusting it into the lamp, and led his guest into the library. Here there were more candles, in chandeliers fixed to the wall. Sir Richard lit as many of these as seemed good to him, and turned to inspect Miss Creed.
She had taken off her hat, and was standing in the middle of the room, looking interestedly about her. Her hair, which clustered in feathery curls on the top of her head, and was somewhat raggedly cut at the back, was guinea-gold; her eyes were a deep blue, very large and trustful, and apt at any moment to twinkle with merriment. She had a short little nose, slightly freckled, a most decided chin, and a pair of dimples.
Sir Richard, critically observing her, was unimpressed by these charms. He said: “You look the most complete urchin indeed!”