As Mowbray was about to ascend the steps beyond the statue, a young man came down and greeted him familiarly.
Mowbray turned round and said:
"Mr. Denis, are you acquainted with Mr. Hoffland?"
And then the new-comer and the young student courteously saluted each other, smiled politely, and shook hands.
"Stay till I come back, Charles," said Mowbray; "you and Denis can chat under the tree yonder—and he will tell you whether Roseland can accommodate a guest. He has staid with me more than once."
With which words Mowbray passed on.
Hoffland looked at his companion; and a single glance told him all he wished to know. Jack Denis—for he was scarcely known by any other name—was an open-hearted, honest, straight-forward young fellow of twenty, with light-brown hair, frank eyes, and a cordial bearing which at once put every body at their ease. Still there was a latent flash in the eye which denoted an excitable temper—not seldom united, as the reader must have observed, with such a character.
The young men strolled across to the tree which Mowbray had indicated, and sat down on a wicker seat which was placed at its foot.
"Mr. Mowbray said you could tell me about Roseland," Hoffland said, raising his dark eyes as was his habit beneath his low-drooping hat; "I am sure it is a pretty place from his description—is it not?"
"Oh, beautiful!" said Denis warmly; "you should go and see it."