A bright fire was blazing on the hearth, the kettle was singing, the round table with its snowy cloth was spread ready for breakfast, and at it, reading her letters as usual, sat Lady Cheynes.
“Granny,” said Philip in the doorway.
The old lady started.
“My boy,” she exclaimed, “you must have got up in the middle of the night, or perhaps you haven’t been to bed at all, after your gay doings.”
“It strikes me, granny, that my gay doings are nothing to yours. I’m glad to see you looking just like yourself, but it really was too bad of you not to let me know in time last night that you were there.”
He stooped to kiss Lady Cheynes as he spoke; she looked up with a smile.
“You were enjoying yourself; I didn’t want to interrupt you. It was a sudden thought of mine; I did not stay long,” the old lady replied, speaking less deliberately than her wont.
“I can’t conceive what put it in your head to go at all,” he said, as he seated himself. “I’m tremendously hungry, granny. I walked over, and I must send Symes for my luggage. I meant to have given you a surprise; you didn’t expect me till next week, did you?”
“No, of course not. I’m not very fond of surprises as a rule, but still, as it has happened I’m glad you’re here. It seems a shame to begin working you the moment you arrive, but will you go over to Weevilscoombe this morning for me to speak to Mr Brander about Layton’s lease? It will save me from writing a letter which after all would probably not have made things clear.”
Sir Philip tapped his boots with his cane reflectively.