At half-past three, when George was still away, for he had gone out with his bailiff immediately after lunch, Philip and his daughter were shown into the drawing-room, where we may be sure Arthur was awaiting them.
“Mr. Caresfoot is not back yet,” said Arthur, “but I do not suppose that he will be long.”
“Oh! he will be here soon,” said Philip, “because I told him we were coming to call. What sort of sport did you have? What, none! I am very sorry. You must come and try again—ah! I forgot you are going away. By the way, Mr. Heigham, why should you go just yet? If you are fond of fishing, and have nothing better to do, come and put up at the Abbey House for a while; we are plain people, but there is plenty of room, and you shall have a hearty welcome. Would you care to come?”
It would have been amusing to any outsider to watch Angela’s face as she heard this astounding proposition, for nobody had been invited inside her father’s doors within her recollection. It assumed first of all a look of blank amazement, which was presently changed into one of absolute horror.
“Would he come, indeed?” reflected Arthur. “Would he step into Paradise? would he accept the humble offer of free quarters in the Garden of Eden?” Rapture beamed so visibly from every feature of his face that Philip saw it and smiled. Just as he was about to accept with enthusiasm, he caught sight of Angela’s look of distress. It chilled him like the sudden shock of cold water; she did not wish him to come, he thought, she did not care for him. Obliged, however, to give an answer, he said,
“I shall be delighted if”—and here he bowed towards her—“Miss Caresfoot does not object.”
“If father,” broke in Angela, with hesitation, “you could arrange that Mr. Heigham came to-morrow, not to-day, it would be more convenient. I must get a room ready.”
“Ah! domestic details; I had overlooked them. I daresay you can manage that—eh, Heigham?”
“Oh! yes, easily, thank you.”
As he said the words, the door was flung open, and “Lady Bellamy” was announced with the energy that a footman always devotes to the enunciation of a title, and next second a splendid creature, magnificently dressed, sailed into the room.