to hold it out for her retainer to kiss, but contenting herself by
giving it a slight wave towards the door.
"Good-morning, Mr Sydney. A delicious morning, sir; a nice breeze."
"Oh, was it?" said the boy, rather surlily.
"Yes, sir; the trout were rising freely as I passed over the bridge in
the lower meadows."
"Humph!"
"I thought I would mention it, sir. I fancy the May-fly are up."
Sydney nodded, and the steward reached the door, but returned, taking
out his pocket-book, after placing the black bag upon a chair.
"I beg your ladyship's pardon, but I omitted to show your ladyship a
paragraph I cut out of this morning's county paper."
Lady Lisle took the scrap handed to her respectfully. "Thank you, Mr
Trimmer. Oh! Yes. Listen, Sydney, my dear. Listen. This will
interest you. Electioneering!" and she read aloud--
"`We understand that Mr Watcombe, the well-known London brewer--'" Her
ladyship stopped and frowned.
"Yes, auntie; I hear," cried the boy--"brewer--?"
"`Is making strenuous efforts to gain the seat for the Tilborough
division of the county. He is now in Paris, but upon his return he will
commence his campaign by delivering a series of addresses to the voters.
The first, we understand, will be given at the Tilborough Arms Hotel.'"
"Pah!" ejaculated Lady Lisle, making as if to throw down the fragment of
paper.
"Pray read on, my lady." Her ladyship rearranged her pince-nez and
continued, beginning in a contemptuous tone of voice, which changed as
she went on--
"`But the gallant brewer, whose beer finds but little favour in this
district, will learn that he has an extremely dangerous rival in our
popular resident squire of the Denes--Sir Hilton Lisle, of sporting
fame, who, to deal in vaticinations, we consider will be the right man
in the right place.'"
"He-ah, he-ah!" cried Sydney. "So he will."
"Yes, my dear," said his aunt, smiling at the boy's enthusiasm; "the
editor means well, but it is very vulgarly written, `of sporting fame.'
Bah!"
"But that's right, auntie. Uncle used to be very famous. Wasn't he
Master of the Hounds six years ago?"
"Yes, my dear, to his sorrow," said Lady Lisle, reprovingly.
The steward shook his head, and looked up as he passed out, with studied
deliberation, as if to let the lady see how marked was the resemblance
between his action and that of the steward in Hogarth's picture
"Marriage a la Mode," while the lady portion of his audience moved
towards the other door.
"Going out, auntie?"
"Yes, my dear, for a short drive down the village. The pony-carriage
will be round in a few minutes. I was going to the vicarage, but my
first call will be at the Smarts'. I should like you to go with me."
"Go with you, auntie?" said the boy, in a hesitating voice.
"Yes, my dear. Do you not wish to go?"
"I did, auntie, but after what Mr Trimmer said about the trout rising,
and the May-fly--you see, they only come once a year."
"Oh, very well, my darling; I suppose I must not object to your liking
to fish. Isaac Walton was quite a poet."
"Regular, auntie; and the Prince says fishing begets a love of Nature."
"Who does, my dear?"
"The Prince--the Principal, auntie. He's a regular dab at throwing a
fly."
Lady Lisle winced again but screwed up a smile, and made no allusion to
the _dab_, which seemed to strike her in the face like a cold frog--tree
frog--and made her wince. "You will be back to lunch, my dear?"
"Well, no, auntie. You see, the May-fly only rise once a year, and I
thought I'd make a long day of it."
"Then tell Jane to cut you some sandwiches, and pray be careful not to
fall in. You will bring us a dish of trout for dinner?"
"Oh, yes, of course, auntie, if they rise."
"Oh, Hilton, how late you are!" sighed the lady, and her stiff dress
rustled over the carpet as she moved forward in a stately way, frowning,
and then smiling with satisfaction, for her nephew darted to the door to
throw it open, catching directly at the soft white hand extended to him
and kissing it. Then, closing the door, he indulged in a frantic kind
of dance, expressive of the most extreme delight, one, however, which
came to a sudden end, the boy stopping short in a most absurd position
as if suddenly turned to stone, for the door was quickly opened and a
head was thrust into the room.