“A long time, I’m afraid,” objected Violet.
“No, I assure you; a mere nothing; not twenty minutes. Do, pray, allow me.”
And he wrote with a pencil, on the back of a card, an order to Sparks for the croquet apparatus, and away trotted the messenger.
“Three can play, you know, or two for that matter, as well as twenty, and so we can do quite well without troubling Miss Mainwaring.”
There was now a knocking at the drawing-room window, where William had seen dimly through the glass, the form of Aunt Dinah at her knitting, with Psyche in her new collar, seated by her. All looked towards the signal, and Miss Perfect threw up the window and said:
“How do you do, Mr. Trevor? what a sweet morning.”
“Perfectly charming,” responded the master of Revington, with a tender emphasis and smiling toward Miss Perfect with his hat in his hand; and Aunt Dinah smiled and nodded again in return.
“William, I want you for a moment—here, dear, you need not come in.”
The instinct which makes old ladies afford a dole now and then of a few minutes to lovers, is in harmony with the general rule of mercy and mitigation which alleviates every human situation.
As soon as Miss Dinah raised the window, William saw standing in the chiaro-oscuro of the apartment, a tall and rather handsome old clergyman. A little rusty was his black suit—a little dust was on his gaiters. It must have been he whom William had mistaken for the attorney who was to have visited his aunt that morning. He had seen him walk his nag up to the door about an hour ago, and dismount.