The man answered, his worship had just gone out, but his lady-daughter was within, and would be delighted to see the honourable gentleman.
Ráby hastened up the familiar wooden stairs, that were so well worn down the middle.
Our hero needed no guide through these rooms. He knew all the nooks and corners of the house, and likewise the time at which callers might come—between the hours of three and four in the afternoon. First he betook himself to the ante-room, where he laid aside his sword and hat. But there was no lackey there to announce him, he had to knock therefore at the first door, to hear a "come in," before he ventured to enter without further preamble.
It was the familiar dining-room, where the women-folk were used to betake themselves to their spinning-wheels.
They sat there now, the Fräulein and the two maids. The spinning-wheel was to our grandmothers what the cycle is to the women of to-day; nay, it took also the place of the pianoforte itself.
Mariska had certainly grown very pretty since Ráby had last seen her, although, as Mr. Leányfalvy had remarked, she was quite simply dressed, and did not curl her hair. He was also quite right about her blushing when she was spoken to. In this instance, words indeed were not needed to bring the colour into her cheeks, she no sooner saw the visitor, than she crimsoned to the roots of her hair. The young girl rose respectfully from the spinning-wheel, glanced shyly at the intruder, and ere he could forbid it, had made him a childish curtsey and kissed his hand.
Ráby was very nearly being angry.
"But, Mariska, do you not recognise me?"
"How should I help recognising you, Matyi?"
"Why then do you kiss my hand?"