“The other gentleman,” resumed the baronet, “you do not know, but you will soon be the best of friends.”
“I beg your pardon, sir Wilton, I do know him!—I hope,” she went on, turning to Richard, “you will keep steadily to your work. The sooner the books are finished, the better!”
Richard smiled, but what he was on the point of saying, his father prevented.
“You mistake, my lady! I thought you did not know him!” said the baronet. “That gentleman is my son, and will one day be sir Richard.”
“Oh!” returned her ladyship—without a shadow of change in her impassivity, except Wingfold was right in fancying the slightest movement of squint in the eye next him. She held out her hand.
“This is an unexpected—”
For once in her life her lips were truer than her heart: they did not say pleasure.
Richard took her hand respectfully, sad for the woman whose winter had no fuel, and who looked as if she would be cold to all eternity. Lady Ann stared him in the eyes and said,—
“My favourite prayer-book has come to pieces at last: perhaps you would bind it for me?”
“I shall be delighted,” answered Richard.