“Is it Joe Scott? What news of the wagons, Joe?”
“No; it’s myself. Mr. Helstone would send me.”
“Oh! Mr. Malone.” The voice in uttering this name had the slightest possible cadence of disappointment. After a moment’s pause it continued, politely but a little formally.
“I beg you will come in, Mr. Malone. I regret extremely Mr. Helstone should have thought it necessary to trouble you so far. There was no necessity – I told him so – and on such a night; but walk forwards.”
Through a dark apartment, of aspect undistinguishable, Malone followed the speaker into a light and bright room within – very light and bright indeed it seemed to eyes which, for the last hour, had been striving to penetrate the double darkness of night and fog; but except for its excellent fire, and for a lamp of elegant design and vivid lustre burning on a table, it was a very plain place. The boarded floor was carpetless; the three or four stiff-backed, green-painted chairs seemed once to have furnished the kitchen of some farmhouse; a desk of strong, solid formation, the table aforesaid, and some framed sheets on the stone-coloured walls, bearing plans for building, for gardening, designs of machinery, etc., completed the furniture of the place.
Plain as it was, it seemed to satisfy Malone, who, when he had removed and hung up his wet surtout and hat, drew one of the rheumatic-looking chairs to the hearth, and set his knees almost within the bars of the red grate.
“Comfortable quarters you have here, Mr. Moore; and all snug to yourself.”
“Yes, but my sister would be glad to see you, if you would prefer stepping into the house.”
“Oh no! The ladies are best alone, I never was a lady’s man. You don’t mistake me for my friend Sweeting, do you, Mr. Moore?”
“Sweeting! Which of them is that? The gentleman in the chocolate overcoat, or the little gentleman?”
“The little one – he of Nunnely; the cavalier of the Misses Sykes, with the whole six of whom he is in love, ha! ha!”
“Better be generally in love with all than specially with one, I should think, in that quarter.”
“But he is specially in love with one besides, for when I and Donne urged him to make a choice amongst the fair bevy, he named – which do you think?”
With a queer, quiet smile Mr. Moore replied, “Dora, of course, or Harriet.”