She looked a little embarrassed as she replied, "A near neighbour of ours, Colonel Witherington. We have known him for years and are great friends; I always like to talk to him, he has so much to say."
"Methinks the lady doth explain too much," was my inward comment. An owl could see that she was in love with him. (It is true that the owl is the bird of wisdom.)
After a short interval the gentlemen joined us. They were all evidently anxious to get home, and ordered their dogcarts (or whatever they had) as soon as they decently could. Colonel Witherington was the last to go. He had lingered so long that the butler and the pompous Charles had retired, leaving only Peter standing in the hall.
"Now don't come out of the warm room, Sir Alexander," said Colonel Witherington; "I shall manage very well—your man is out here."
Peter now came forward with the Colonel's greatcoat in his hand; and the drawing-room door was shut.
Suddenly a peal of laughter was heard, long, loud, and irresistible. Then another voice joined in—the merriment seemed uncontrollable. The Sutherland family looked at each other in angry astonishment. Could it be the new footman indulging in this unseemly mirth? Impossible!
Sir Alexander opened the door into the hall; we followed him with one accord. What a sight met our eyes! There stood Colonel Witherington, with his hand on Peter's shoulder, the pair of them shaking with laughter.
"Go back, my dears," said Sir Alexander, with a wave of his hand towards us. With the true instinct of the British pater-familias, he was eager to send his women-kind away from anything unusual or improper; but Mysie's curiosity was too great—besides, Colonel Witherington was now dragging the footman forward.
"'COME AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF, YOU RASCAL.'"