“I am come to pay my duty to my uncle,” says the dark-haired Mr. Warrington; “and to thank him for his hospitalities to my brother Henry.”
“What, nephew George? My brother's face and eyes! Boys both, I am delighted to see you!” cries their uncle, grasping affectionately a hand of each, as his honest face radiates with pleasure.
“This indeed hath been a most mysterious and a most providential resuscitation,” says Lady Warrington. “Only I wonder that my nephew Henry concealed the circumstance until now,” she adds, with a sidelong glance at both young gentlemen.
“He knew it no more than your ladyship,” says Mr. Warrington. The young ladies looked at each other with downcast eyes.
“Indeed, sir! a most singular circumstance,” says mamma, with another curtsey. “We had heard of it, sir; and Mr. Claypool, our county neighbour, had just brought us the intelligence, and it even now formed the subject of my conversation with my daughters.”
“Yes,” cries out a little voice, “and do you know, Harry, father and mother said you was a—a imp——”
“Silence, my child! Screwby, convey Master Warrington to his own apartment! These, Mr. Warrington—or, I suppose I should say nephew George—are your cousins.” Two curtseys—two cheeses are made—two hands are held out. Mr. Esmond Warrington makes a profound low bow, which embraces (and it is the only embrace which the gentleman offers) all three ladies. He lays his hat to his heart. He says, “It is my duty, madam, to pay my respects to my uncle and cousins, and to thank your ladyship for such hospitality as you have been enabled to show to my brother.”
“It was not much, nephew, but it was our best. Ods bobs!” cries the hearty Sir Miles, “it was our best!”
“And I appreciate it, sir,” says Mr. Warrington, looking gravely round at the family.
“Give us thy hand. Not a word more,” says Sir Miles “What? do you think I'm a cannibal, and won't extend the hand of hospitality to my dear brother's son? What say you, lads? Will you eat our mutton at three? This is my neighbour, Tom Claypool, son to Sir Thomas Claypool, Baronet, and my very good friend. Hey, Tom! Thou wilt be of the party, Tom? Thou knowest our brew, hey, my boy?”