To bed and to sleep went they, all the household, old and young—Joseph, the manservant, excepted. Sleepy Joseph stretched himself in a large chair to wait the return of Mr. Anthony: sleepy Joseph had so to stretch himself most nights. Mr. Anthony might come in in an hour's time, or Mr. Anthony might not come in until it was nearly time to commence the day's duties in the morning. It was all a chance; as poor Joseph knew to his cost.
Nine o'clock was the breakfast hour at Mr. Dare's, and the family were in general pretty punctual at it. On the following morning they were all assembled at the meal, Anthony rather red about the eyes, when Ann, the housemaid, entered.
"Here's a parcel for you, Mr. Anthony."
She held in her arms a large untidy sort of bundle, done round with string. Anthony turned his wondering eyes upon it.
"That! It can't be for me."
"A boy brought it and said it was for you, sir," returned Ann, letting the cumbersome parcel fall on a chair. "I asked if there was any answer, and he said there was not."
"It must be from your tailor, Anthony," said Mrs. Dare.
Anthony's consequence was offended at the suggestion. "My tailor send me a parcel done up like that!" repeated he. "He had better! He would get no more of my custom."
"What an extraordinary direction!" exclaimed Julia, who had got up, and drawn near, in her curiosity: "'Young Mister Antony Dare!' Just look, all of you."
Anthony rose, and the rest followed, except Mr. Dare, who was busy with a county paper, and paid no attention. A happy thought darted into Minny's mind. "I know!" she cried, clapping her hands. "Cyril and George are playing Anthony a trick, like the one they played Miss Benyon."