“Something, I suppose, of what may be called a fancy-fair,” she interrupted.
“Just so. A fancy-fair without charge. At any rate, I make no doubt it will be pleasant: and I sincerely hope to see you all at it. You will come, I trust, Mr. Brandon. These things are not in your usual way, I am aware, but——”
“I have neither the health nor the inclination for them,” said Mr. Brandon, quite shrilly, stopping him before he could finish.
“But I trust you will make an exception in favour of us to-morrow, I was about to say. Mrs. Clement-Pell and the Miss Clement-Pells will be so pleased to see you.”
“Thank you,” said old Brandon, in a tone only just short of rudeness. “I must be going, Squire.”
He got up as he spoke, shook hands with Mrs. Todhetley only, nodded to the rest of us, and set off across the lawn. Children liked him in spite of his voice and dry manner, and of course Hugh and Lena, pipes and soap-suds and all, attended him to the gate.
As the brown cob went trotting off, and the Squire was coming back again—for he had gone too—Mr. Clement-Pell met him half-way across the lawn, and then they both went indoors together.
“Clement-Pell must want something,” said Mrs. Todhetley. “Johnny, do you notice how very aged and worn he is? It never struck me until to-day. He looks quite grey.”
“Well, that’s because he is getting so. I shall be grey some time.”
“But I don’t mean that kind of greyness, Johnny; grey hairs. His face looks grey.”