On entering the hall, Beryl, as mistress of the house in her cousin’s absence, rang for the servants and told them to take Mr Ashwicke’s baggage to the same room he had occupied last year, sending Barton round to the kennels to find Sir Henry and inform him of the arrival of his guest.
In the meantime, Ashwicke had tossed his hat aside, and seated himself cross-legged, in one of the low cane-chairs, making himself thoroughly at home.
“Well,” he said, stretching himself, “it is really very pleasant, Miss Wynd, to be here once again. I have so many pleasant recollections of last year—when I spent three weeks with you. What a merry time we had!”
“I hope you’ll remain here longer this time,” she said in a dry, unnatural voice.
“You’re awfully kind—awfully kind,” he answered.
“I always enjoy myself under Sir Henry’s roof, both here and in town.”
The baronet entered, and the greeting between the two men was a cordial one.
“You’ll forgive me, Ashwicke, won’t you?” Sir Henry said a moment later. “I quite forgot to tell my wife, and she’s gone off to the flower-show at Dodington; must support the local things, you know.”
“Of course, of course,” responded the other. “I quite understand, and I know I’m welcome.”
“That you certainly are,” Sir Henry said, turning and ordering the man to bring whisky and sodas. “Let’s see, the last letter I had from you was from Alexandria, back in the Spring. Where have you been since then?”