“That is most true,” said the other, with suppressed amusement, “but I was told I was almost sure to find Mr. Penton at home.”
At this moment the door flew open hastily and Ally appeared, not seeing the stranger as she held the door. “Oh, Wat,” she cried, “father has gone out and some one has come to see him. Mamma thinks it is some dreadful person about Penton. She wants you to run out and meet him, and tell him—What are you making signs to me for?”
As she said this she came fully into the room and looked round her, and with a sudden flush of color, which flamed over cheek and brow and chin, perceived the visitor, who made a step forward with a smile and a bow.
“I am the dreadful person,” he said. “I don’t know what I can say to excuse myself. I had no bad intention, at least.”
Ally was so much discomposed that after her blush she grew pale and faint. She sunk into a chair with a murmur of apology. She felt that she would like to sink through the floor; and for once in her gentle life would have willingly taken vengeance upon the brother and sister who had let her commit so great a breach of manners, and of whom one, Anne, showed the greatest possible inclination to laugh. Walter, however, was not of this mind. He took everything with a seriousness that was almost solemnity.
“My sister, of course, did not know you were there,” he said. And then, with that desire to escape from an unpleasant situation which is common to his kind, “Since you are in a hurry and your business is serious, I’ll go and see if I can find Mr. Penton,” he said.
And he had the heart to go, leaving the stranger with Ally and Anne! the one overwhelmed with confusion, the other so much tempted to laugh. It was like a boy, they both reflected indignantly to leave them so. Between Ally, who would have liked to cry, and Anne who restrained with difficulty the titter of her age, the young man, however, felt himself quite at an advantage. He asked with quiet modesty whether he might send his horse round to the stables. “I can send him up to the village, but if you think I might take the liberty of putting him up here—” They were so glad to be free of him, even for a moment, that they begged him to do so, in one breath.
“But for goodness’ sake, Ally, don’t look so miserable, there is no harm done,” said Anne, in the moment of his absence; “it will show him how we feel about it.”
“What does it matter how we feel? but to be rude is dreadful; let me go and tell mother—”
“What, and leave me alone with him? You are as bad as Wat. You sha’n’t stir till father comes. Fancy a strange young man, and an enemy—”