"One would think Windyhill was Siberia at least," said Mrs. Dennistoun, laughing; "we do not give ourselves credit for all these fine qualities."
"Some people are heroes—or heroines—without knowing it," said Mr. Sharp, with a bow.
"And yet," said the mother, with a little indignation, "there was some talk of Mr. Compton doing me the honour to share my hermitage for a part of the year."
"Mr. Compton! my dear lady! Mr. Compton would die of it in a week," said Mr. Sharp.
"I am quite well aware of it," said Mrs. Dennistoun; and she added, after a pause, "so should I."
"What a change it will be for your daughter," said Mr. Sharp. "She will see everything that is worth seeing. More in a month than she would see here in a dozen years. Trust Mr. Compton for knowing all that's worth going after. They have all an instinct for life that is quite remarkable. There's Lady Mariamne, who has society at her feet, and the old lord is a most remarkable old gentleman. Your daughter, Mrs. Dennistoun, is a very fortunate young lady. She has my best congratulations, I am sure."
"Sharp," said Mr. Lynch from the background, "you had better be thinking of starting, if you want to catch that train."
"I'll see if the pony is there," said John.
Mr. Sharp put down his teacup with precipitation. "Is it as late as that?" he cried.
"It is the last train," said Mrs. Dennistoun, with great satisfaction. "And I am afraid, if you missed it, as the house is full, there would be nothing but a bed at the public-house to offer——"