The girl hurried away, and Trevor walked on, to come suddenly upon Humphrey, leaning upon his thistle staff, at a turn of the road.

"Ah, Humphrey," he said, "going your rounds? I want to have a talk to you to-morrow."

There was a hard, stern look on the young man's face as he involuntarily saluted his master; but Trevor did not notice it, and turning down the lane which led to Tolcarne, he began to tap his teeth with the stick he carried, and run over in his own mind what he should say, till he reached the new gates, walked up to the house, and was shown into the presence of the knight's sister.

Miss Matilda Rea did not like Cornwall, princ.i.p.ally for theological reasons. She preferred her brother's town-house in Russell Square, because she was within reach of the minister she "sat under"--a gentleman who, she said, "was the only one in London to awaken her stagnant belief."

The fact was that Aunt Matty was a lady who required a zest with her worship--she liked pickles with her prayers, and her friend the minister furnished them--verbal pickles, of course, and very hot.

But there were other reasons why she did not like Cornwall; there were no flagstones; the people did not take to her visitations; her prospects of getting a suitable companion grew less; and lastly, Cornwall did not agree with her dog.

Aunt Matty was dividing her time between nursing Pepine, who was very shivery about the hind legs, and reading small pieces out of a "serious"

book--tiny bits which she took like lozenges, and then closed her eyes, and mentally sucked them, so as to get the goodness by degrees. In fact, she was so economical with her "goody" books, that one would last her for years.

"Mr Trevor!" said the servant, loudly, and then--"I'll tell Sir Hampton, sir, that you are here."

Aunt Matty raised her eyes, and Pepine barked virulently at the stranger, as her mistress half rose and then pointed rather severely to a chair.

"He can't be nice," said Aunt Matty to herself, "or Pepine would not bark." Then aloud--"Sir Hampton will, I have no doubt, soon be here."

"Have I the pleasure of addressing Lady Rea?" said Trevor, with a smile.

Pepine barked again.

"What an insult!" thought Aunt Matty. "Did she look like the mother of two great girls?"

In truth, she really did not.

"I am Sir Hampton's sister," she said, stiffly--"Miss Matilda Rea."

Volume 2, Chapter VI.

A FRIENDLY CALL.

There was a pause of the kind that may be called cold for a few moments in Sir Hampton's drawing-room. Then Trevor spoke--

"I beg pardon, I'm sure," he said, frankly; "I hope my name is not unknown to you."

"I think I have heard my brother mention it," said Aunt Matty, stiffly.

"Hush, Pepine I don't bark!" when, as a matter of course, the dog barked more furiously than before.

"I've just come back from sea," said Trevor, to break the chill.

"Indeed," said Aunt Matty, freezing a little harder; and added to herself, "A most objectionable person." Then aloud, "Pepine must not bark so, hush! hush!"

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Matty, do send that cross little wretch away,"

cried Lady Rea, bursting into the room. "Mr Richard Trevor, is it?"

she said, her plump countenance breaking into a pleasant smile as she gazed up at her visitor. "I'm very glad to see you," she continued, holding out both hands, "and I hope we shall be very good neighbours."

"I hope we shall, indeed," said Trevor, shaking the little lady's hands very heartily, and thinking what a homely, pleasant face it was.

"And aren't you glad to get back? Did you enjoy yourself at sea? I hope you didn't get wrecked!" said Lady Rea, in a breath.

"No; I reached home safe and sound," said Trevor.

"We do have such storms on this coast sometimes. I've told Edward to look for his master. Hampy's always about his grounds."

"My sister means she has sent for Sir Hampton," said Miss Matilda, frigidly. In fact, the cold was intense, and showed in her nose.

"Yes, I've sent for Sir Hampton," said Lady Rea, feeling that she had made a slip. "The girls will be here, too, directly. You have met them?"

Miss Matilda darted a look of horror at her sister; but it missed her, and the little lady prattled on.

"They told me about meeting you twice; and, oh!--here, darlings!--Mr Trevor's come to give us a neighbourly call."

They came forward--Tiny to offer her hand in a quiet, unaffected manner, though a little blush would make its way into her cheek as her eyes met Trevor's, and she felt the gentle pressure of his hand; Fin to screw up her face into a very prim expression, shake hands, and then retire, after the fashion taught by the mistress of deportment at her last school.

"I wish that old griffin would go," thought Trevor, as the conversation went on about the sea, the country and its pursuits--a conversation which Aunt Matty thought to be flighty, and wanting in ballast--which she supplied.

But Aunt Matty did not mean to go, and dealt out more than one snub keen enough to have given offence to the young sailor, but for the genial looks of Lady Rea and the efforts of Fin, who, to her sister's trouble, grew spiteful as soon as her aunt snubbed her ladyship, and became reckless in her speech.

Aunt Matty thought it was quite time for "the seafaring person," as she mentally termed him, to go. She had never known a visit of ceremony last so long. On the contrary side, Trevor forgot all about its being a visit of ceremony: he was near his deity--for a warm attachment for the sweet, gentle girl was growing fast--and he liked the merry laughing eyes of Fin.

"By the way, Mr Trevor," said Lady Rea. "I hear you've got beautiful horses."

"Oh, I don't know," said Trevor. "I tried to get good ones."

"I'm told they are lovely. The girls are just beginning riding--papa has had horses sent down for them."

"I hope they are quiet and well broken," said Trevor, with an anxious glance at Tiny.

"I don't think, f.a.n.n.y, that Mr Trevor can care to know about our simple domestic matters--our horses, for instance," said Miss Matilda, now solid ice.

"Oh, sailors always love horses, aunty," said Fin, colouring a little; and then mischievously, as she sent an arrow at Trevor, "because they can't ride them."

Aunt Matty's lips parted, but no words came; and to calm her ruffled feelings she took a little dog--in strokes.

"Your daughter is right," said Trevor, "I do love horses; and," he said, laughing at Fin, "I do try to ride them."

"I hope you'll look at the girls' horses, then, Mr Trevor," said Lady Rea. "As you understand them, you'd be able to tell whether they are safe. I don't half like the idea of the girls mounting such wild beasts as horses often are. As for me, I wouldn't ride on one for the world."

The idea of plump little Lady Rea in a riding-habit, mounted on a horse, like a long-draped pincushion, was too much. Tiny coloured. Aunt Matty looked horrified. Trevor grew hot and bit his lip, caught Fin's eye, and then that young lady, who had held her handkerchief to her mouth, burst out laughing.

"Dear me!" exclaimed Lady Rea, good-humouredly. "What have I said now?--something very stupid, I'm sure. But you must not mind me, Mr Trevor, for I do make such foolish mistakes."

Miss Matilda took hold of the two sides of the light shawl thrown over her angular shoulders, and gave it a sawing motion to work it higher up towards her neck, a shuddering sensation, like that caused by a cold current of air, having evidently attacked her spine.

"I think it was a foolish mistake, f.a.n.n.y," she said, in a voice acid enough to corrode any person's temper, "to doubt Sir Hampton's Judgment with respect to the horses he would choose for his daughters' use."