“Very cold the weather is, very cold—at this time of year. You’ve had a cold drive. Not had luncheon yet? Two o’clock, you know: yes, about a quarter to two now, in a quarter of an hour.”
He had by this time laid Doctor Sprague’s note on the table.
“And the little boy, Sir, where is he?” suggested William.
“Oh, oh! little Howard! I suppose we shall see him at lunch.”
“I should wish very much to hear any directions or suggestions, and to know something as to what he has been doing,” said William.
“Very true—very right, Mr.—Mr.,” and old Kincton Knox groped towards the note, intending to refresh his memory.
“Herbert,” interposed William, colouring a little. “Doctor Sprague made a point of the name, and I believe, Sir, wrote particularly about it.”
“Quite so—very right, Sir. It is Herbert. I quite approve—quite, Sir; and about the boy. The fact is, Mr. Herbert, I leave him very much to his mother. She can tell you much more what he has been doing—very young, you know, still—and—she’ll tell you all about him; and I hope you will be happy, I’m sure; and don’t fail to tell the people whatever you want, you know; I live very much to myself—quiet room this—fond of books, I suppose? Well, I shall be always very happy to see you here; in fact it will be a great pleasure. We may as well sit down, do, pray; for you know ladies don’t care very much for this sort of reading;” and he waved his short white hand towards the bookcases; “and sometimes one feels a little lonely; and Sprague tells me you have a turn for reading.”
The door opened, and a servant announced that Mrs. Kincton Knox wished to see Mr. Herbert in the school-room.
“Ho!” exclaimed the master of Kincton, with a grave countenance and a promptitude which savoured of discipline. “Well, at lunch I shall see you, Mr. Herbert; we’ll meet in ten minutes or so; and, Edward, you’ll show Mr.—a—Herbert to the school-room.”