"Where's Boscawen?"
"They have left some hours, to return to Brierly, papa. Did you want to see Mr. Boscawen?"
A smile curled Sir Foster's handsome lip.
"I am sorry Mr. Boscawen is gone then, papa. I suppose you had some horse in view?"
Another smile and tap of the boot.
"I thought so. But, papa, you will never read your letters and notes if I do not return to Ripley; will you?"
Sir Foster winked his eye in silence.
"My dear Lucy," said Lady Wetheral, playfully, "Sir Foster must bring his letters here every morning for your perusal and advice."
"Oh yes, papa, that is an excellent plan; is it not? You must ride over every morning to be searched, and then you will not require my presence at Ripley."
Sir Foster sat two hours without speaking, or appearing to attend to the conversation which took place between his fair companions. He sat in the most complete absence of mind, tapping his boot, which Clara resented by silent looks of contempt. Miss Kerrison was so intimately acquainted with her father's ways that her chat flowed on undisturbed, till the ormolu clock struck six; Miss Kerrison then approached her father.