“I think they’re beautiful,” said Comethup.
“Well, just look round them, and tell me if you think there’s anything else you would like. What do you think of the pictures? I got a man specially to choose them, told him they must be bright, and just the sort of things a boy would like; no sickly love-making, or cottage interiors, or nonsense of that kind, but just a few with some blood in ’em—fighting, and chopping up, and highwaymen, and nice little delicacies of that kind. Like ’em, eh?”
“I don’t think I shall ever get tired of looking at them,” said Comethup. “And there are a heap of books here, too, aunt—quite the most beautiful books I’ve ever seen,” he added.
“Of course, I’d forgotten the books. I wrote to a bookseller to send me all he could think of that would be likely to appeal to you—same style as the pictures, you know. Now there isn’t much time before dinner, so just wash your hands, and come down to the drawing room when you hear the first bell. I’ll go and change my frock.”
She was going out of the room, with her stick moving before her, when Comethup sprang to her side. “Won’t you let me—let me take you——” he began.
She understood in a moment, and her face lighted up as she looked down at him. She did not merely put her hand on his shoulder, as she had done before; she drew it round his neck. “That’s my dear boy!” she said, almost in a whisper.
He conducted her safely to the door of her room, and then dashed upstairs again to his own. It was quite a new sensation to have some one to attend on him, to anticipate his smallest wants, and be ready silently and respectfully with each thing he required. The young man was deft and quick, and seemed really proud of his young charge; he even delicately turned him round for inspection at the last moment, and smiled and nodded approval.
“There’s a tailor, and a bootmaker, and other people a-coming to-morrow, sir; Miss Carlaw’s orders, you know. Miss Carlaw says as she’ll be present for the measurin’, sir, so as to tell the men what she wants you to have, sir. They’ll be here at eleven in the morning, sir.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Comethup, a little staggered by the intelligence.
He found his aunt in the drawing room, pacing up and down in her old fashion, with her black stick lightly touching the carpet before her. Her hand upon his shoulder, as they went into the dining room, reminded her of the subject of his clothes; she moved her fingers over the cloth impatiently.