‘Have you got your tobacco-box, Uncle Isaac?’ inquired the dutiful nephew presently.
‘Let me give you a light,’ said Rosalie.
There they were again! What was the good of their talking to him? He wanted them to talk to each other.
‘Richard,’ said Isaac, after sucking for a moment at his pipe—when Rosalie applied the match a flash of inspiration had come to him—‘Richard, my boy, ye have n’t been round this here farm since ye come home, have ’ee?’
‘No,’ said Richard; ‘but I know it well of old.’
‘Ah, but there’s been improvement since ye left—there’s been a many improvements. Ye’d better take him round, Mrs. F., and show him all what’s been done the last few years. He be oncommon fond o’ stretching his legs—Richard be—and it’ll just suit him—won’t it, Richard?’
Richard stammered confusedly that he should like it of all things.
‘And you be a wonderful one for fresh air yourself, Mrs. F.,’ went on the diplomatist. ‘Jist take ’en out and show ’en everything, there’s a good soul.’
Rosalie had risen willingly enough, for she had found the previous constraint exceedingly uncomfortable; but she now paused hesitatingly.
‘Are n’t you coming, Mr. Sharpe?’