After his first rapture at the thought of having Marianne to stay at Stanyon was abated a little, it had occurred to Martin that the visit would afford his half-brother many undesirable opportunities for flirtation. It had not occurred to him that he might find a rival in Lord Ulverston, for although his lordship certainly drove a magnificent team of horses, wore the coveted insignia of the Whip Club, and showed himself in all respects a man of fashion, he was not handsome, and his figure, seen beside any one of the three Frants, was not imposing. Martin, who stood over six foot in his bare feet, thought of him as a little on the squat. He was, in fact, of medium height and compact build; and if his features were not classical his smile was engaging, and his address considerable. It almost deserted him at the dazzling sight which met his eyes, but he made a quick recover, and sprang forward to hand Marianne out of the carriage before Martin had dismounted, and long before the Dowager had performed the proper introductions.
Since the dinner-hour at Stanyon was at half-past six, Miss Morville lost no time in escorting Marianne to her bedchamber, a pleasant room next to her own, with a modern, barred grate, and a comfortable tent-bed. Marianne, looking about her at the flowered wallpaper, and all the evidences of up-to-date taste, seemed a little disappointed, and confided that she had expected to find herself in a panelled room, with a four-poster bed, and a powder-closet.
“Well, it could be arranged for you to sleep in one of the panelled rooms,” said Miss Morville. “Only it will set you at a little distance from me, and I had thought you would prefer to be near me.”
Marianne assured her that she would not change her room for the world. “I thought all the rooms were panelled!” she explained. “Is not the Castle of vast antiquity?”
“Oh, not this part of it!” said Miss Morville. “I think it was built at the time of Charles II. I fancy that not much of the original Castle still remains. If you are interested in antiquities, you should ask Theo Frant to take you over the whole building: he knows all about it.”
“Is it haunted?” breathed Marianne, in delightful trepidation.
“Oh, no, nothing of that sort!” Miss Morville said reassuringly. She then perceived that she had given the wrong answer, and added: “At least, it may be, but I am not at all fanciful, you know, and I daresay I might not be conscious of the supernatural.”
“Oh, but, Drusilla, if a spectre without a head were to walk the corridors, or a female form in gray draperies, surely you would be conscious of it!” cried Marianne, much shocked.
“If I saw a female form in gray draperies I should take it for Lady St. Erth,” said Miss Morville apologetically. “She has a gray dressing-gown, you see. However, a headless spectre would certainly surprise me very much. Indeed, it would very likely give me a distaste for the Castle, so I hope I never shall see such an apparition.”
“Give you a distaste for the Castle! Oh no, how can you be so unromantic?” protested her youthful friend.