Mr. Helzephron sat down at their table after a time and prosed away in his monotonous voice. He was a man of some education, had read, and was a Dickens lover. He did not often have the opportunity of conversation with any one like Lothian and he made the most of it. Like many common men who are anxious to ingratiate themselves with their superiors, he thought that the surest way to do so was to abuse his neighbours, thus, as he imagined, proclaiming himself above them and flattering his hearer. Lothian always said of the landlord of the George that he was worth his weight in gall, and for a time he was amused.
At five o'clock the two visitors had some tea and toast and at the half hour both were ready to go.
"I'll run round to the post office," Ingworth said, "and see if there are any late letters."
"Very well," Gilbert answered, "and I'll have the horse put in."
The afternoon post for Mortland Royal left the town at three, and letters which came in by the five o'clock mail were not delivered at the village until the next morning unless—as now—they were specially called for.
Ingworth ran off.
"Well, Mr. Lothian," said the landlord. "I don't often have the pleasure of a talk with you. Just one more with me before you go?"
They were standing together at the bar counter when a page boy entered the lounge and went up to his master. "Please, sir," he said, "the new young lady's come."
"Oh, very well," Helzephron answered. "I'll be out in a minute. Where is she?"
"In the hall, sir. And shall Boots go down for her trunk?"