Quest," he
added, a few minutes later, as they reached the hall, "Moreton here will
show you to your room and look after you. Please let me know if you will
take an aperitif. I can recommend my sherry. We dine at eight o'clock.
Edgar, you know your way. The blue room, of course. I am coming up with
you myself. Her ladyship back yet, Moreton?"
"Not yet, my lord."
"Lady Ashleigh," her husband explained, "has gone to the other side of the
county to open a bazaar. She is looking forward to the pleasure of
welcoming you at dinner-time."
* * * * *
Dinner, served, out of compliment to their transatlantic visitor, in the
great banqueting hall, was to Quest especially a most impressive meal.
They sat at a small round table lit by shaded lights, in the centre of an
apartment which was large in reality, and which seemed vast by reason of
the shadows which hovered around the unlit spaces. From the walls frowned
down a long succession of family portraits--Ashleighs in the queer Tudor
costume of Henry the Seventh; Ashleighs in chain armour, sword in hand, a
charger waiting, regardless of perspective, in the near distance;
Ashleighs befrilled and bewigged; Ashleighs in the Court dress of the
Georges--judges, sailors, statesmen and soldiers. A collection of armour
which would have gladdened the eye of many an antiquarian, was ranged
along the black-panelled walls. Everything was in harmony, even the grave
precision of the solemn-faced butler and the powdered hair of the two
footmen.
Pages:
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205