“We await his coming, then,” said Miss Merriot. “It solves the matter. My Peter, bespeak a bedchamber for Miss Grayson.”
A confiding hand was slipped into Kate’s as Mr Merriot strolled away to the door. “Please will you call me Letty?” said Miss Grayson shyly.
Mr Merriot made an odd grimace at the panel of the door, and went through into the taproom.
Mine host had barely recovered from his very natural bewilderment at finding that the supposed fugitive was still in his house when there came the sound of a chaise bowling at a rare speed along the road. It drew up at the inn, and in the light of the lamps Mr Merriot saw his servant jump down. He pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. “This should be papa,” he said pensively. “Your fourth room will be wanted, host.” He went back into the coffee-room to find that Miss Letty was at the window already, peering out.
“Your papa, as I believe,” announced Mr Merriot.
“I am afraid it is,” agreed Miss Letty. “Yet with the gout plaguing him so much — oh lud! As I live, ’tis Anthony!”
Miss Merriot threw her brother a comical look. “And so your desires are fulfilled, child. We are all impatience, Letty.”
Mr Merriot stood by her chair, and took snuff. The door opened to admit a large gentleman, who came in very leisurely.
“Lud, it’s a mammoth!” said Miss Merriot, for her brother’s private ear.
“Oh, are you jealous?” he retorted.