The Heiress of Wyvern Court | Page 5

side, leaning against the mantelpiece, was a tall man--red-haired, with streaks of grey in that of both head and closely-clipped beard. He had keen grey eyes, which seemed to scan Inna through; a small mouse-like figure by the door, afraid to advance.
"Oscar, where are your manners?" asked the gentleman, "to treat a lady in this way, when she's thrust upon you?"
Thrust: here was another word which seemed to say she was not welcome.
"I beg your pardon," lisped the child, thinking she ought to speak.
"No, no; a lady is very like a king--she never does wrong or needs pardon; 'tis this great lout of a boy here that is the aggressor."
Whereupon the somewhat awkward, shy lad on the hearth laid down knife and toasting-fork, and came towards her.
"Well, whoever you are, will you please sit here?" said he, setting her a chair by the table, and taking another himself behind the urn.
"With a lady in the room, you'll never do that," said the gentleman, spying comically at him from where he still stood on the hearth, as the boy began to brew the tea.
"Oh no, thank you; I couldn't manage the urn," said Inna.
"I thought not," growled Oscar, a big, handsome, fair-haired boy of eleven, with grey-blue eyes. "And now, here I am without a cup for you."
Inna had not taken the seat he offered her by the table, but had glided round to the gentleman on the hearth. Oscar made a bolt from the room to fetch a cup and saucer.
"Won't you say you will like to have me here, Uncle--Uncle Jonathan?" she asked hesitatingly. Such a mite she was, glancing up at the tall red-haired gentleman turning grey, such blushes coming and going in her cheeks.
"My dear little lady, I think you're just the one element wanting in our male community: a little girl in our midst will save us from settling down into the savages we're fast becoming," replied the gentleman, glancing down in an amused way at her from his superior height.
"Well, isn't that welcome enough?" he asked, still with that comical smile, as Inna gave a puzzled glance at him, as if not quite comprehending his high talk, and fumbling in her dress pocket.
"I have a letter that will tell you all about me--why I've come, you know," said she.
"Ah yes, Dr. Willett's letter," he remarked, taking the missive from her and balancing it between his finger and thumb. Just then Oscar came back with a rush.
"I know all about you, and who you are," said he, putting down the cup and saucer he had brought with a clatter. "You're a sort of half-cousin of mine, and a great-niece of Uncle Jonathan's," he blurted out.
"Well, since you know so much, suppose you come here and enlighten your new half-cousin as to who I am. She has mistaken me for her uncle--and naturally too, since you, as host for the time being, were rude enough not to introduce us."
At this reproach Oscar left his tea-making, and approached the two: Inna with burning cheeks, at her mistake about this unknown gentleman, not her uncle.
"Well, this is Mr. Barlow--Dr. Barlow, some people call him, but he's no such thing; he's a surgeon, and the one who plays David to Uncle Jonathan--you understand?" questioned the boy, with humour sparkling in his blue-grey eyes.
"Yes," nodded Inna shyly; "his very dear friend, you mean."
"Yes, that's about the figure," was the response, while the two bowed with ceremony.
"And now, I am--tell Mr. Barlow who I am, please," pleaded the small maiden.
"Well, this is Miss Inna Weston, the daughter of a certain Mercy Willett, niece of Jonathan Willett, Doctor, who lived here years ago, before my time. Now, old man, come to tea." With this, the boy slapped the other on the arm with pleasant familiarity, and went back to his tea-making.
Mr. Barlow led Inna to her seat, and saw her comfortable there, taking his own chair beside her, while Oscar sat with his back to the fire--like a cat on a frosty night, Mr. Barlow told him. Inna wondered where her uncle was, but asked no questions as yet--only munched away at her toast in her dainty way, and sipped her tea, trying hard to feel that she was at home. As for Oscar, he made such sloppy work with the urn, that Mr. Barlow had to say presently--
"Don't make a sea of the table, boy. You see what incapable creatures we are, Miss Inna. I never could make tea, and your own eyes tell you what Oscar can do."
"I suppose Uncle Jonathan makes tea when he is here," was Inna's reply.
At which the two gentlemen looked comically at each other.
"Well, I can't say I ever saw the doctor come down from the clouds enough for that," observed Mr. Barlow dryly; "but I