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"What on earth do you mean?" asked Tynn, never for a moment glancing at the fact of what Roy tried to imply. "He is come back: Frederick Massingbird. He didn't die, over there." A pause, devoted by Tynn to staring and thinking. When the full sense of the words broke upon him, he staggered a step or two away from the ex-bailiff. "Heaven help us, if it's true!" he uttered. "Roy! it can't be!"
"Tynn informs me that he appears to be uneasy in his mind," observed Mr. Bitterworth. "A man so changed, as he has been in the last two years, I have never seen," replied Lionel. "None can have failed to remark it. From entire calmness of mind, he has exhibited anxious restlessness; I may say irritability. Mrs. Verner is ill," Lionel added, as they were ascending the stairs.
I supposed it to be Cannonby; but Tynn says Cannonby has not been here." The question appeared to divert her thoughts into another channel. "Cannonby! What should bring him here? Did you expect him to come?" "Drink your wine, and then I will tell you," he said, holding the glass towards her. She pushed the wine from her capriciously. "I don't want wine now. I am hot. I should like some water."
The owner of the eyes and tongue was wanting to hold a few words of private colloquy with Tynn. Could Tynn have seen right round the corner of the pillar of the outer gate when he went out, he would have detected the man waiting there in ambush. It was Giles Roy. Roy was aware that Tynn sometimes attended departing visitors to the outer gate.
Roy's wish, from private motives of his own, that Tynn should not know he had been looked for, but should believe the encounter to be accidental. Tynn turned off the road, and leaned his elbow upon the gate, rather glad of the opportunity to stand a minute and get his breath. It was somewhat up-hill to Verner's Pride, the whole of the way from Deerham.
"I'll not tell Tynn," she soliloquised she and Tynn being somewhat inclined to take opposite sides of a question, in social intercourse "and I'll not say a word to my mistress. I'll go straight off now and give it into the hands of Mr. Lionel. What a blessed thing! If he should be come into his own!" The inclosed paved court before Lady Verner's residence had a broad flower-bed round it.
'Tenez, ma fille, she would say, 'regardez dans ma garde-robe, et prenez autant que vous voudrez. She always spoke to me in French." Tynn wished there had been no French invented, so far as her comprehension was concerned.
My wife has got some custards, too, in her larder. The custards are not intended for out here, but you can have one." Master Cheese wiped his damp face; he had gone all over into a glow of delight. "Bring a pudding and a custard or two, Tynn," said he. "There's nothing in the world half so nice as a plate of plum pudding swimming in custard."
She must have spent the money like water." "So she did," acquiesced Phoeby. "She did nothing all day long but drive about from one place to another and choose pretty things. You should see the china that's coming over!" "I wonder Mr. Lionel let her," was the thoughtlessly-spoken remark of Tynn. And she tried, when too late, to cough it down. "He helped her, I think," answered Phoeby.
Tynn, who was a staid, old-fashioned housekeeper, accustomed to nothing beyond the regular, quiet household maintained by the late Mr. Verner, was driven to the verge of desperation. "It would be far pleasanter if we had only half the number of guests," Lionel had said to his wife in the winter. He no longer remonstrated against any: he had given that up as hopeless.
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