“Scott,” said Sir Peter. “If he was a Captain, and ain’t hoaxing you! Most of the military men go to him—or they did, in my day.”
“Very likely. At all events, there was no fault to be found with his air, or address, and I think you would say that he has a well-bred ease of manner. I found him excellent company, and I am sure he must have great delicacy of principle, for he was most steady in refusing to drive with me into the town! He said that it would not do, and obliged me to set him down before we reached it.”
Sir Peter grunted again. “What did you talk of?” he demanded.
“Oh, all manner of things!” she replied easily. “He told me many—many interesting things about the Pyrenees, for instance!”
“He did, did he? Fellow sounds to me like a damned nincompoop!” said Sir Peter irascibly.
She laughed, but blushed too. “Oh, no! In fact, I fear he must cause his family the gravest anxiety with these whimsical starts of his! You, I think, would like him, sir. I have not, of course, seen him with a team, but I fancy he has good, even hands.”
“That’s as may be. But what the devil’s he doing at the tollhouse?”
“Oh, diverting himself! I think he finds life sadly flat.”
He said no more, and she picked up a newspaper, and glanced through it, knowing that although he might weary soon of conversation he liked to feel that she was in the room. She thought he had fallen into a light sleep, but he startled her suddenly by saying in an abrupt tone: “Who is the fellow you have staying in the house?”
“Henry, Grandpapa?”