CHAPTER LIX.
AN OLD FRIEND.
I am going now to describe the occurrences of a particular evening on which my young friend drank tea at Stanlake Farm, which was the name of the house with the old garden to which I have introduced the reader.
A light shower had driven the party in from the garden, and so the boy and Amy were at their ninepins in the great hall, when, the door being open, a gentleman rode up and dismounted, placing the bridle in the hand of a groom who accompanied him.
A tall man he was, with whiskers and hair dashed with white, and a slight stoop. He strode into the hall, his hat on, and a whip still in his hand.
“Hollo! So there you are—and how is your ladyship?” said he. “Skittles, by the law! Brayvo! Two down, by Jove! I’d rather that young man took you in hand than I. And tell me—where’s Ally?”
“Mamma’s in the drawing-room,” said the young lady, scarcely regarding his presence. “Now play, it’s your turn,” she said, addressing her companion.
The new arrival looked at the boy and paused till he threw the ball.
“That’s devilish good too,” said the stranger—“very near the nine. Eh? But a miss is as good as a mile; and I don’t think he’s quite as good as you—and she’s in the drawing-room; which is the drawing-room?”
“Don’t you know the drawing-room! Well, there it is,” and the young lady indicated it with her finger. “My turn now.”
And while the game was pursued in the hall, the visitor pushed open the drawing-room door and entered.