Then, wise from experience, she led the way to
Lewis's sanctum, and found there a pretty luncheon-table and every token
of men's presence. Soon the four tenants arrived, hot and breathless,
from the hill, to find Bertha Afflint deep in rods and guns, Miss
Wishart and Lady Manorwater ensconced in the great armchairs, and Mr.
Stocks casting a critic's eye over the unruly bookshelves.
Wratislaw's presence at first cast a certain awe on the assembly. His
name was so painfully familiar, so consistently abused, that it was hard
to refrain from curiosity. Lady Manorwater, an ancient ally, greeted
him effusively, and Alice cast shy glances at this strong man with the
kind smile and awkward manners. The truth is that Wratislaw was acutely
nervous. With Mr. Stocks alone was he at his ease. He shook his hand
heartily, declared himself delighted to meet him again, and looked with
such manifest favour on this opponent that the gentleman was cast into
confusion.
"I must talk shop," cried Lady Manorwater when they were seated at
table. "Lewie, have you heard the news that poor Sir Robert has
retired? What a treasure of a cook you have, sir! The poor man is
going to travel, as his health is bad; he wrote me this morning. Now
who is to take his place? And I wish you'd get me the recipe for this
tomato soup."
Lewis unravelled the tangled skein of his aunt's questions.
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