“Under the trees at the side o’ the house, sir.”
“Oh, the shrubbery you mean. All right—yes, I remember you well, James. Twelve years ago—why, it seems a thousand years ago since I paid that visit to Wapshot Park with the General—you were butler then too. Do you remember the day I tumbled out of the apple tree into the horse pond, and came home without any shoes and all covered with mud?”
“That I do, sir,” said James, grinning at the recollection; “and the face the General pulled when he saw you. This way, sir.”
Lady Seagrave was seated by the fire in the boudoir just as we saw her on the day Patsy Rooney made her acquaintance.
“How you have grown!” said the old lady, when she had shaken hands with her visitor and motioned him to a seat on the opposite side of the fireplace. “The last time I saw you, you were in knickerbockers and a turned-down collar. I hope you have grown in wisdom as well as in stature. You will find the house rather dull to-day, I’m afraid, but it will be more lively to-morrow, for I am expecting a house-party of quite interesting people.”
“I saw some jolly-looking kids at one of the windows upstairs,” said Mr Fanshawe. “Cousin Robert’s, I suppose.”
“Kids!” cried the old lady, raising her ear-trumpet. “I have an abhorrence of goats; how did they get into the house?”
“I didn’t mean goats’ kids, I meant children.”
“Umph!” replied Lady Seagrave. “May I beg you to say in future what you mean? It abbreviates conversation, and places the matter under discussion in a more clear light.”
“I am awfully sorry,” said Dicky; “but”—speaking very loudly and distinctly—“I saw some nice-looking children looking out of a window upstairs; I suppose they are Cousin Robert’s kids—I beg your pardon—I mean children.”