Archie was somewhat taken aback, but bowed as composedly as he could.
"Surely," he thought, "she cannot be the daughter of the rough and right sort of a stick who had been steward to his uncle. He had never seen so sweet a face, such dreamy blue eyes, or such wealth of hair before.
"Did you want to see papa? Sit down. I'll go and find him."
"Will you take this letter to him?" said Archie.
And the girl left, letter in hand.
Ten minutes after the "rough stick" entered whistling "Sally come up."
"Hullo! hullo!" he cried, "so here we are."
There he was without doubt—a big, red, jolly face, like a full moon orient, a loose merino jacket, no waistcoat or necktie, but a cricketer's cap on the very back of his bushy head. He struck Archie a friendly slap on the back.
"Keep on yer cap," he shouted, "I was once a poor man myself."
Archie was too surprised and indignant to speak.