And Miss Rye laughed as she left the room more freely than she had laughed for many a day.
"Perhaps Carrick can put me into something!" self-communed Roland, cutting off the top of his egg, and taking in a half-slice of inch-thick bread-and-butter at a bite. "I know he'll not want the will when I tell him about Annabel."
The last morsel was eaten, and Roland was on the point of demanding more, for his appetite never failed, when he heard someone come to the house and inquire for Mr. Yorke. Visions of the arrival of Lord Carrick flashed over him; he made a dash to the passage, and very nearly threw down a meek little gentleman, who was being shown into his room.
"Holloa!" said Roland, the corners of his mouth dropping with disappointment. "Is it only you?"
For the visitor was nobody but little Jenner. He had brought a communication from Mr. Greatorex, and took off his hat while he delivered it.
"You are to go back with me to the office at once, if you please, Mr. Yorke. Mr. Greatorex wants you."
"What have I done now?" questioned Roland, anticipative of a reprimand.
"It is not for anything of that sort, sir. I believe Sir Vincent Yorke has telegraphed for you to go down to him at Sunny Mead. The despatch said you were to lose no time."
Whether Roland leaped highest or shouted loudest, the startled house could not have decided. The anticipated bailiff's place was, in his imagination, as surely his, as though he had been installed in it formally. To wash his hands, brush his hair, and put on a superfine coat took but a minute, before he was striding to the office little Jenner on the run by his side, and to the presence of Mr. Greatorex.
Into which he went with a burst. The lawyer received him calmly and showed the message from Surrey.