“Thanks! Don’t mind holding them; put them down anywhere, Roger, and do, there’s a dear boy, go and help father and the others in that horrid, horrid cabin.”
Roger, more flurried and docile than he had felt himself for a long while, dropped the baggage, and thrusting the dog into Armstrong’s hands, flew off to obey the behests of his new cousin.
The young lady now looked up in charming bewilderment at the tutor, who could not fail to read the question in her eyes, and felt called upon to answer it.
“May I introduce myself?” said he. “I am Frank Armstrong, Roger’s tutor.”
“I’m so glad,” said she with a little laugh. “I’d imagined you a horrid elderly person with a white cravat and tortoise-shell spectacles. It is such a relief!”
And she sighed at the mere recollection of her forebodings.
“There’s no saying what we may become in time,” said Mr Armstrong.
“I suppose,” said she, eyeing him curiously once more, “you’re the other trustee, or whatever it’s called? I hope you and father will get on well. I can’t see what use either of you can be. Roger looks as if he could take care of himself. Are you awfully fond of him?”
“I am rather,” said the tutor in a voice which quite satisfied his hearer.
“Heigho!” said she presently, picking up the dog and stroking its ears. “I’m glad this dreadful voyage is over. Mr Armstrong, what do they all think about all of us coming to Maxfield? If I lived there, I should hate it.”