"Why not? Ah, how I recollect, in the back parlour," said Miss Susannah, her memory unconsciously wandering back to the love incidents of her youth.
"The back parlour?" enquired Miss Arabel.
"The back—I didn't say back parlour. I said black parlour—the oaken dining-room in my father's house."
"And what of it, aunt? What made you think of the black parlour now?"
"Oh, it was a picture," stammered Miss Susan, inventing an excuse for her mistake; "a beautiful old portrait—a sort of—I don't recollect what it was."
"Ah! that puts me in mind of what he speaks of often—the pictures in our house. I say, aunt," she continued, as if a thought had struck her.
"Well?"
"Suppose I were to invite him to come into the Hall and see the portraits?"
"Well, so you might. Your father would think he was as fond of drawing as you are; and if he be the person I think he is, your father will be delighted that you have made a friend of him."
"Indeed? Oh, I'm so happy! I'll ask him to the house this very day; and perhaps if he says anything, aunt, about the treasure, you can be in the way to hear it."