Estimating
him by years, he had turned fifty. Judging him by lightness of heart,
strength of constitution, and capacity for enjoyment, he was no older
than most men who have only turned thirty.
"Thomas!" cried Mr. Vanstone, taking up his old felt hat and his thick
walking stick from the hall table. "Breakfast, this morning, at ten. The
young ladies are not likely to be down earlier after the concert last
night.--By-the-by, how did you like the concert yourself, eh? You
thought it was grand? Quite right; so it was. Nothing but crash-ban g,
varied now and then by bang-crash; all the women dressed within an
inch of their lives; smothering heat, blazing gas, and no room for
anybody--yes, yes, Thomas; grand's the word for it, and comfortable
isn't." With that expression of opinion, Mr. Vanstone whistled to his
vixenish terrier; flourished his stick at the hall door in cheerful
defiance of the rain; and set off through wind and weather for his
morning walk.
The hands, stealing their steady way round the dial of the clock,
pointed to ten minutes to nine. Another member of the family appeared on
the stairs--Miss Garth, the governess.
No observant eyes could have surveyed Miss Garth without seeing at once
that she was a north-countrywoman.
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