“You lack a master here, indeed!” said I, in some heat, but ceased suddenly, for I beheld a lady come down the great oaken staircase, who stood still on a sudden at the sound of our wrangling, and looked towards us. As she stood there, holding a great candlestick of silver in her hand, I could almost have thought her a painted portrait, framed in the doorway of the gallery behind her, so clearly could I mark her gown of flowered tabby and black satin petticoat, her dark hair curled under a high cap with lace, and even the silver buckles on her shoes. Though I could see all this so well, ’twas but for a moment that she stood thus, her face wearing a quick, eager look, then came down the stairs, and setting her candle on the table, came towards us.
“What is this, Miles?” says she. “Why do you keep this gentleman at the door?”
“Gentleman do you say, madam?” says Miles, very angry, and would have grumbled on, but she cut him short and turned to me—
“Sir, I entreat of you to pardon this incivility, and to give yourself the pain to come within. You have a message for one here, I believe. May I ask whether your business lie with Mrs Skipwith or myself?”
“I count, madam,” says I, “that I have the honour of speaking with Mrs Brandon? This being so” (and she made a sign of assent), “I may tell you that I am come from the Indies, and that I have been asked to bring you news of the welfare of your cousin, Mr Edward Carlyon.”
“You are my cousin’s friend, without doubt, sir?” says she. “Pray give us the happiness of your company to supper, and let us know all your news. My friend Mrs Skipwith will rejoice to hear it as well as I.”
“Madam,” says I, “your commands is too agreeable not to be obeyed,” and thereupon I followed her into the parlour, where was an old gentlewoman sitting, dressed very seemly in black, with a white cap and handkercher.
“Madam,” says Dorothy, “this gentleman is a friend of Mr Carlyon’s, that is come from the Indies with news of him. Sir, allow me to present you to Mrs Sophronia Skipwith.”
“Sir,” says Mrs Skipwith, when I had saluted her very civilly, “any friend of Mr Carlyon can’t but be always welcome to us. Dorothy, my dear, pray bid Miles hasten with the supper.”
Being invited by Mrs Skipwith, I sat down beside her, discovering that she was grown very deaf and that her eyes were become dim, and did set myself, when Dorothy was returned, to answer their questions in the best way I might. They would fain know when I saw Mr Carlyon last, how he looked, whether he had any thought of returning soon to England, and the like, and these all wan’t troublesome to answer. But presently Mrs Skipwith saith all on a sudden—