"Oh! Mr. Faversham!—but you would never suggest—"
Lydia came to the rescue:
"Mother, really we ought to ask for the pony-carriage."
Faversham protested, but Lydia was firm, and the hand-bell beside him was rung. Mrs. Penfold flushed. She quite understood that Lydia thought it unseemly to be putting a guest through a string of questions about the private affairs of his host; but the inveterate gossip in her whimpered.
"You see when one has watched a place for months—and people tell you such tales—and you come and find it so different—and so—so fascinating—"
She paused, her plaintive look, under her wistful eyebrows, appealing to
Faversham to come to her aid, to justify her curiosity.
Suddenly, a sound of wheels from the front.
Lydia offered her hand to Faversham.
"I'm afraid we've tired you!"
"Tired! When will you come to see me again?"