You wus not expected, sir; not in the least."
"My mother is at home?"
"No, sir; out. In the kerridge. She drove Homersham way."
"See after my things. Here are my keys." And Harold passed on to the
little morning-room which Mrs. Purling called her own. Having the
choice of half-a-dozen chambers, each as big as Exeter Hall, she
preferred to occupy habitually the smallest den in the house. To his
surprise he found the room not untenanted. A young lady was at the
book-case, and she turned seemingly in trepidation on hearing the door
open.
"Miss Fanshawe," thought Harold, as he advanced with eyes that were
unmistakably critical.
"I must introduce myself," he said. "I am Harold."
"The last of the Saxon kings?"
"No; the first of the Purling princes. I know you quite well. Has my
mother never mentioned me?"
"I only arrived yesterday," the young lady replied, rather evading the
question.
"My mother must be delighted. She told me she was looking forward
eagerly to your promised visit."
"She really spoke of me?"
"In her letters; again and again."
"I hardly thought--"
"That you had taken her by storm? You have; and I was surprised, for
she is not easily won."
Not a civil speech, which this girl only resented by placing a pair of
old-fashioned double glasses across her small nose, and looking at him
with a gravity that was quite comical.
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