As the sisters appeared inclined to devote themselves to their clerical visitor rather exclusively, he drew near the recess to which Dr. Blundell had retired, and joined him in the oriel window.
"Have you never been here before?" asked the doctor, rather abruptly.
"Never," said John Crewys, smiling. "I understand my cousins are not much given to entertaining visitors. I have never, in fact, seen any of them but once before. That was at Sir Timothy's wedding, twenty years ago."
"Barely nineteen," said the doctor.
"I believe it was nineteen, since you remind me," said John, slightly astonished. "I remember thinking Sir Timothy a lucky man."
"I dare say he looked much about the same as he does now," said the doctor.
"Well," John said, "perhaps a little slimmer, you know. Not much. An iron-grey, middle-aged-looking man. No; he has changed very little."
"He was born elderly, and he will die elderly," said the doctor, shortly. "Neither the follies of youth nor the softening of age will ever be known to Sir Timothy." He paused, noting the surprised expression of John's face, and added apologetically, "I am a native of these parts. I have known him all my life."
"And I am—only a stranger," said John. He hesitated, and lowered his voice. "You know why I came?"
"Yes, I know. I am very glad you did come," said the doctor. His tone changed. "Here is Lady Mary," he said.