“Where you will stay for quite a long time if we can keep you,” said Sir Guy eagerly. “It will do Violet a lot of good to have you. She has been looking pale and depressed lately. I am dull company for her, and she ought to go out again and see the world. She will, now that she has you to go with her.”
“Well, I will stay as long as I can! But I have other visits booked later on. Do you remember, Violet, my old friends the Lawrences? They had some money troubles a year or two back, and they had to leave Lakeside. They have got a rather nice old house in the eastern counties, where property is to be had so much more cheaply. I don’t exactly know where it is; but Isingford is their post town, though they are right away in the country. I have promised to go and see them. They say the house and garden are very nice; but, of course, the society is nothing like what they have been used to. There are a few old families living within a drive; but most of the better houses are taken up by people who have made their money in trade and retired. Some are quite pleasant and possible, they say; though, of course, they miss the old set! But that sort of change is going on all over the country more or less.”
“Yes,” answered Sir Guy, “we have all of us to learn the lesson of tolerance, I think—to be catholic in our sympathies, in our religion and social life alike. Some of our neighbours here, who decidedly have not the stamp of Vere de Vere, have been as kind and sympathetic as possible to Violet these past months when life has been rather dreary for her. Hullo, here is the young rascal wanting his Aunt Mary’s notice! Hasn’t he grown a big, strong fellow? He’s getting quite a handful for his parents, I can tell you.”
Little Guy was a very charming young man, as he ought to be with such handsome parents and so much care taken of his education, for Lady Dumaresq had resolutely set her face against having him spoiled, and had got him an old-fashioned nurse, who was quite one with her as to strict rules of simple diet, early hours, and no undue indulgence. So he did not interrupt the conversation of his elders, nor intrude his own wishes at every opportunity. He had an engaging little way of creeping softly up to the person whose attention he wished to attract, and silently possessing himself of a disengaged hand, against which he would lay his soft round cheek in an irresistible caress.
Miss Adene was charmed with him, took him on her knee, and let him prattle to her. In the midst of this talk a step was heard in the hall, and little Guy slipped down and ran towards the door, exclaiming—
“Sat’s Uncle Ronald!”
The next minute Guy’s brother was in their midst, shaking hands with Miss Adene most cordially, and tossing the boy upon his broad shoulder, as the father had not done for many a long day now. He was a very handsome fellow twenty-four years old, two years younger than the baronet, with the same well-cut features and tall, manly figure; only he was muscular and athletic-looking where Sir Guy was thin almost to gauntness, and there were no lines of pain in his brown face, whilst the eyes seemed always brimming over with fun and good humour.
He seemed to bring with him a whiff of fresh air and sunshine. He almost lived out of doors, looking after the estate for his brother, and enjoying his favourite pursuits of shooting, fishing, or hunting, according to the season.
“Yes, always killing something, Aunt Mary,” he replied laughingly to her query—“the typical Englishman for that. I say, Rascal, what do you think of having a professional murderer for an uncle? Isn’t it a shocking sort of thing?”