Sir Richard then took the note, broke the seal, and read the contents through, evidently with considerable satisfaction. Having completed the perusal of the note twice over, with a smile of unusual gratification, tinctured, perhaps, with the faintest possible admixture of ridicule, Sir Richard turned toward his daughter with more real cheerfulness than she had seen him exhibit for years before.
"Mary, my good child," said he, "this note announces the arrival here, on to-morrow, of my old, or rather, my most particular friend, Lord Aspenly; he will pass some days with us—days which we must all endeavour to make as agreeable to him as possible. You look—you do look extremely well and pretty to-day; come here and kiss me, child."
Overjoyed at this unwonted manifestation of affection, the girl cast her work away, and with a beating heart and light step, she ran to her father's side, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him again and again, in happy unconsciousness of all that was passing in the mind of him she so fondly caressed.
The door again opened, and the same servant once more presented himself.
"What do you come to plague me about now?" inquired the master, sharply; recovering, in an instant, his usual peevish manner—"What's this you've got?—what is it?"
"A card, sir," replied the man, at the same time advancing the salver on which it lay within reach of the languid hand of his master.
"Mr. Audley—Mr. Audley," repeated Sir Richard, as he read the card; "I never heard of the man before, in the course of my life; I know nothing about him—nothing—and care as little. Pray what is he pestering about?—what does he want here?"
"He requests permission to see you, sir," replied the man.
"Tell him, with my compliments, to go to hell!" rejoined the invalid;—"Or, stay," he added, after a moment's pause—"what does he look like?—is he well or ill-dressed?—old or young?"
"A middle-aged man, sir; rather well-dressed," answered the servant.