“Alas! His kind compliments, dear Cousin—his deepest regrets—I am the bearer of his most heartfelt apologies! Prostrate!”
“Eh?” gasped Nicky.
Francis sighed. “I left him laid upon his bed, in the greatest anguish. His old enemy, you know: gout, dear boy! The agitation he has suffered—or perhaps it may have been that horridly cold drive, who can say?—brought on one of his most severe attacks. Impossible for him to venture out of his house! So here I am, in my dual role. I do trust—not unwelcome?”
“Oh, no!” Elinor said quickly. “How could you think—Pray, will you not be seated, sir? You are staying—that is, I expect you are putting up at—”
“You are all goodness, Cousin! My father did indeed encourage me to hope that I should find a welcome at Highnoons. But do not put yourself out, I beg of you! I dare say I shall be very comfortable in whatever bedchamber you choose to bestow me, as long as the chimney does not smoke—yes, I retain the most hideous memories of my last visit to this house—and the aspect is not north. My physician warns me particularly against cold rooms, you know, for my constitution is not at all robust.”
She knew not what to say, for the dictates of civility forbade her to utter the only reply that rose to her mind. Nicky, whose notions were not so nice, said bluntly, ‘“You will scarcely stay here, Cheviot! The inn at Wisborough Green has several decent rooms.”
Francis answered him with unshaken urbanity, “I should not dare to take so great a risk, for you must know that I have not brought my own sheets with me, and I make it a rule never to stay at an inn without them. One can never be certain that the beds have been properly aired. Dear me, I am quite overcome to think I should be putting Mrs. Cheviot to inconvenience!”
Elinor felt herself obliged to disclaim, and to say that she would give instructions to have a room prepared for him. He thanked her and said that he should be happy in the Yellow Room.
“Well, you will not!” said Nicky incorrigibly; “That is Mrs. Cheviot’s room!”
“Ah, then, on no account would I wish her to remove from it!” Francis said. “It really makes not the smallest difference to me, so do not, I beg of you, Cousin, dream of giving it up! That would put me quite put of countenance. Put me in poor Eustace’s bedchamber! It is a trifle somber, perhaps, but I shall not regard that.”