"Come to the dining-room, Miss Milford," he said; "I expected you to-day—I have made all my arrangements accordingly. You must be hungry after your journey; and as I have not yet lunched, I hope you will share my luncheon?"
Honoria assented. Her manner towards her benefactor was charming in its quiet grace, deferential without being sycophantic—the manner of a daughter rather than a dependent Before leaving the library, she looked round at the books, the bronzes, the pictures, with admiring eyes. Never before had she seen so splendid an apartment: and she possessed that intuitive love of beautiful objects which is the attribute of all refined and richly endowed natures.
The baronet placed his ward on one side of the table, and seated himself opposite to her.
No servant waited upon them. Sir Oswald himself attended to the wants of his guest. He heaped her plate with dainties; he filled her glass with rare old wine; but she ate only a few mouthfuls, and she could drink nothing. The novelty of her present position was too full of excitement.
During the whole of the repast the baronet asked her no questions. He talked as if they had long been known to each other, explaining to her the merits of the different pictures and statues which she admired, pleased to find her intelligence always on a level with his own.
"She is a wonderful creature," he thought; "a wonderful creature—a priceless pearl picked up out of the gutter."
After luncheon Sir Oswald rang for his carriage, and presently Honoria
Milford found herself on her way to her new home.
The mansion inhabited by the Misses Beaumont was called "The Beeches." It had of old been the seat of a nobleman, and the grounds which encircled it were such as are rarely to be found within a few miles of the metropolis; and they would in vain be sought for now. Shabby little streets and terraces cover the ground where grand old cedars of Lebanon cast their dark shadows on the smooth turf seven-and-twenty years ago.
Honoria Milford was enraptured with the beauty of her new home. That stately mansion, shut in by noble old trees from all the dust and clamour of the outer world; those smooth lawns, and exquisitely kept beds, filled with flowers even in this chill spring weather, must have seemed beautiful to those accustomed to handsome habitations. What must they have been then to the wanderer of the streets—the friendless tramp—who a week ago had depended for a night's rest on the chance of finding an empty barn.
She looked at her benefactor with eyes that were dim with tears, as the carriage approached this delightful retreat.