"But, Edina, what would it matter? With a beautiful place like Eagles' Nest and means to keep it up, the children would always be sure of a home and of welcome there. It would be Charley's as much as ours——"
"Oh, mamma! What do you think? Papa has gone without his shaving-tackle, and without his boots!"
The salutation came from the children, who all came wildly rushing forth again. They had been visiting the major's dressing-room, and discovered that these indispensable articles had been left behind.
"They are his light summer boots, too; those with the long name," said Alice. "He cannot walk about much in any others."
"Dear, dear, dear!" lamented Mrs. Raynor. "He must have put on those tight, patched ones by mistake—and they always blister his heels. How will he manage to get to Bath?"
Eagles' Nest was not large, but it was one of the prettiest places in all Kent. A long, low, ancient house of grey stone, covered in places with ivy. Some of its old-fashioned mullioned casements had been replaced (many people said spoilt) by modern windows, opening to terraces, undulating lawns, and beds of brilliant flowers. Few old houses have so gay an appearance as this house had: perhaps owing to the new windows and to other alterations. The entrance-door was approached by three or four broad, low steps. Gothic casements of rich and blended colours threw their tints upon the tesselated hall. Rooms opened on either side: bright rooms, that had a very home look about them, and in which one felt that it would be a privilege to pass a great portion of one's life. The estate had been well kept up by Mrs. Atkinson. It was worth about two thousand a-year; but was still capable of much improvement.
When Major Raynor and his son arrived in the course of the afternoon, they were received by Mr. Street, the solicitor to the late Mrs. Atkinson. He was brother to Mr. Edwin Street, the acting partner in the Atkinson bank. John Street was the elder of the brothers; a man of sixty now, well known in London as a quiet and most respectable practitioner. He was reserved in manner; not at all what could be called "genial," and rather severe than benevolent; strictly just, but perhaps not generous.
As the fly that brought the major and his son from the nearest station rattled up, Mr. Street appeared at the hall-door: a little man in spectacles, with cold light eyes and very scanty hair.
"I am glad you have come, Major Raynor."
"And I'm sure I'm glad to see that you have," returned the major, cordially holding out his hand. "I might have found myself in a fog without you. I had your letter this morning."