General Grampound in make, shape, manner, voice and character was exactly like the General one meets on the stage in a farce. One meets numerous people in the course of one’s journey through the world who seem to have strayed into life from a farce, and, as a rule, they are very unpleasant people to deal with—play their parts indifferently well, and sometimes stray out of the world leaving a tragedy behind them.
General Grampound had been winding himself up. After his cropper in the ditch he had given up the chase and returned home. He had been winding himself up, but, as a matter of fact, he did not want much winding.
In this respect—and some others—the old gentleman very much resembled Selina.
During the hour before luncheon he had been constructing set speeches with which to greet his nephew and his ward on their return. It was considerably to his disgust when, just before the luncheon gong rang, the “tub” containing Violet, the children and Patsy—all the picture of happy innocence—drove up to the front steps.
“Oh, there you are!” cried Miss Lestrange, glancing up at her guardian, who had opened the hall door and was standing on the top step. “What became of you?”
“Where’s Richard?” asked the General. “I called to you to stop. He had no right to go dragging you through that hedge. Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” said Violet. “I met the governess-cart, and they gave me a lift. Did you see the hare?”
“No,” said the General, glaring at the “tub” and its occupants, “I saw no hare. Look at that pony, all of a lather. What do you mean by driving cattle in that fashion, sir—eh?”
“I wasn’t dhrivin’ no cattle, sir,” replied Patsy, who had for General Grampound a feeling compounded in about equal parts of hatred and fear. “Punch always lathers if you dhrive him beyand a walk.”
“Come on, come on,” said the old gentleman, turning to Violet, “get your hat off—get yourself ready, the luncheon is waiting—you were late for breakfast——”