“I—I make it a rule to be kind to—a—to everybody. I endeavour to be so—I believe I have,” said the majestic lady with a dignity indescribably dry. “I shall mention your wish to Mr. Kincton Knox. Good-evening, Mr.—Mr. Herbert.”
It seemed to our friend William, that the lady was very much offended with him; but what he had done to provoke her resentment he could not divine. He reproached himself after the door had closed, for not having asked her; but perhaps an opportunity would offer, or he might make one, he could not bear the idea of having wounded a heart which had shown such friendly leanings towards him.
CHAPTER XLIII.
MR. KINCTON KNOX RECEIVES A SUMMONS
Mr. Kincton Knox, with a couple of dogs at his heels, was tranquilly consulting his chief commissioner of woods and forests, when he was summoned from his sylvan discourses by a loud tapping on his study window, within whose frame he saw, like a full-length portrait of Mrs. Siddons, on a signboard, if such a thing exists, the commanding figure of his wife, who was beckoning him imperiously.
The window at which she stood was in fact a glass door opening upon two steps, to which the peaceable old gentleman of sixty-two wonderingly drew near.
“Come in,” she exclaimed, beckoning again grimly, and superadding a fierce nod.