“I think Sir Arthur has got the black dog on his back again,” said Miss Oldbuck.
“Black dog!—black devil!—he’s more absurd than womankind—What say you, Lovel?—Why, the lad’s gone too.”
“He took his leave, uncle, while Miss Wardour was putting on her things; but I don’t think you observed him.”
“The devil’s in the people! This is all one gets by fussing and bustling, and putting one’s self out of one’s way in order to give dinners, besides all the charges they are put to!—O Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia!” said he, taking up a cup of tea in the one hand, and a volume of the Rambler in the other,—for it was his regular custom to read while he was eating or drinking in presence of his sister, being a practice which served at once to evince his contempt for the society of womankind, and his resolution to lose no moment of instruction,—“O Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia! well hast thou spoken—No man should presume to say, This shall be a day of happiness.”
Oldbuck proceeded in his studies for the best part of an hour, uninterrupted by the ladies, who each, in profound silence, pursued some female employment. At length, a light and modest tap was heard at the parlour door. “Is that you, Caxon?—come in, come in, man.”
The old man opened the door, and thrusting in his meagre face, thatched with thin grey locks, and one sleeve of his white coat, said in a subdued and mysterious tone of voice, “I was wanting to speak to you, sir.”
“Come in then, you old fool, and say what you have got to say.”
“I’ll maybe frighten the ladies,” said the ex-friseur.
“Frighten!” answered the Antiquary,—“what do you mean?—never mind the ladies. Have you seen another ghaist at the Humlock-knowe?”
“Na, sir—it’s no a ghaist this turn,” replied Caxton;—“but I’m no easy in my mind.”