"In the summer, Aunt Charlotte."
"Summer? But it is far pleasanter now. No dust, and the inns not half so crowded. Well, William, here we are,"—and the amazed William, who was peacefully sipping his coffee and smoking his cigar, and thinking that after all even an eighth son who was nephew of a rich and powerful neighbour was worth a luncheon and not bad company after it, found himself startled out of his chair by an invasion as unexpected as it was inopportune.
But he was somewhat afraid of his sister, of her fashion and smartness—above all of her sang froid. There was no saying what she might say or do.
Moreover he had a sneaking desire to show off before her. He was really pleased to be found entertaining, if so be he must be found at all. Altogether, after the first shock, he rose to the occasion creditably.
And now there rose on the horizon George Butts' lucky star. He had vacated his place at table in favour of the newcomers, and was hesitating as to whether after all he must not affect to pursue the walk which had been given out as the raison-d'être of his being where he was, when he caught Leonore's eye. Leonore, little minx, had all her wits about her. In five minutes the pair were stealing forth from a side door, and were quickly out of sight of the house.
"I put him on his way," she remarked, subsequently; "you were all so taken up with Aunt Charlotte's people that poor Mr. Butts was utterly neglected, and could not get any one even to say 'Good-bye' to him. So I killed two birds with one stone. Turned him civilly out of doors, and kept myself in my objectionable get-up out of the reach of Aunt Charlotte's scathing tongue. Do you know, I really believe she hardly saw me. I am sure she did not take me in at all."
"She inquired where you had gone, Leo?"
"Did she? The old cat—I beg her pardon. But what business was it of hers where I had gone? Father," continued Leo, reverting to a trick whose value was tried and true, "you looked so dumfoundered, poor father, and were so completely taken possession of by—by an octopus,"—she paused to see how this was taken, and at his smile proceeded,—"that said I to myself: 'You're not wanted here, neither is friend George; you are both de trop: be off with you, and it will clear the field'. That was all right, wasn't it?"
"Hum—I suppose so. I never saw you go."
"The octopus had you fast. She adores her William—when she does not forget all about him."