“Oh, Neville always gets on with ladies; there is certainly no fault to find with him in that respect. His civility is natural to him; he is just as polite to an old woman with a market basket and a few apples tied up in a blue spotted handkerchief as he is to a lady whose dress has been made by Worth.”
“I call that true politeness,” returned Bessie warmly.
“There is not much of the precious commodity to be found in our days; the young men one meets in society are not cut after that pattern. And so Mrs. Sinclair is ailing again?”
“‘Seriously indisposed,’ was Mr. Sinclair’s expression; and he looked rather grave, I thought.”
“My dear creature, Neville always looks grave, as though he were engaged in a criminal investigation. He is a barrister, you see, and he troubles himself if his mother’s finger aches. The dear old lady is always ailing, more or less, but there is never much the matter—a creaking door; you know the sort; only Neville always makes the worst of it. Now, look here, Miss Lambert, that is what we call the village—just those few cottages and the inn; there is not even a church; we have to walk over to Melton, a mile and a half away. Isn’t that pond pretty, with the ducks on it? and there is a flock of geese. Now we have only to turn down this road and there is The Grange.” And as Miss Sefton pointed with her whip, Bessie saw the outlines of a large red house between the trees.
CHAPTER VIII.
AT THE GRANGE.
As Miss Sefton spoke the lane widened before them, and the hedgerows gave place to a short avenue of elms, the sunlight filtering through the thick interlaced branches, and throwing quivering shadows on the white road below; a low white gate opened into a meadow where some cattle were grazing, and on the right hand side was a large, straggling red house, with picturesque stables half smothered in ivy. The hall door stood open and a fine Scotch deerhound lay basking in the afternoon sun; he roused himself lazily as the pony carriage stopped before the door, and as Bessie alighted he came up to her wagging his tail slowly, and put his long, slender nose into her hand.
“What a beautiful creature!” exclaimed Bessie, who was exceedingly fond of all dumb animals. “Look how friendly he is, as though he were welcoming me to The Grange.”