The Country Gentleman Read Online Free PDF Page A

accept. “It is only the most humble cottage in—”
    “Bless you, Mr. Dent,” Anne broke in firmly, “but we could not think of so burdening you. We will never forget your generous offer.”
    “But in that case,” Mr. Dent objected, though ceasing to urge his most recent suggestion, “where in the world will you live?”
    Anne was silent, thinking. Could they traipse about like gypsies, stopping first with one friend, then another? It might answer for the summer, but—how would she pay the servants, how cover the expense of travelling? And how long could—
    “Cheshire,” Maria Insel declared.
    “My dear?”
    “We must take your great uncle’s house in Cheshire.”
    “Gracious God! I had completely forgot it,” Anne exclaimed.
    “I too. Since this morning, I have no thought but…” Mr. Dent subsided. The truth was, unless his son assisted him, he was destitute.
    Maria, for the moment the only one of the three not in danger of dissolving into tears, inquired as calmly as she could whether Mr. Dent had ever visited Linfield.
    Mr. Dent had not. Mr. Herbert Guilfoyle had been in the habit of coming up to town once every five years (theladies heard this number with a shiver) to transact his business with Mr. Dent. In the most recent years, advancing age having made travel inadvisable, Mr. Guilfoyle had sent his steward, an excellent man by the name of Rand, if Mr. Dent’s memory served him.
    But did Mr. Dent know anything of the property?
    Only that it was a fair one, well run from the look of the proceeds (here Mr. Dent named a good figure of income likely to be seen in a year), a dairy farm in chief, he rather thought, with some dozen or fifteen tenant houses. Mr. Guilfoyle, a younger son and a lifelong bachelor, had bought it as a youth and there resided till his decease.
    But the house? Had it a park? Gardens? A view? Any amenities?
    Mr. Dent confessed his ignorance, but added that, since Mr. Guilfoyle had been an admirer of Robert Owen, the house was at the least likely to be healthful in its situation, and well maintained.
    But were there gentry in the neighbourhood? A manor house, a squire? How distant was it from Chester? Were there servants?
    Of all these questions, Mr. Dent could answer only the last, and that vaguely: There were some servants, he did not know how many. Mr. Rand, he trusted, was still in charge, for Mr. Dent had orders to pay him from the estate.
    At this point, Anne at last recovered her tongue enough to ask, “And Mr. Henry Highet, who is to be deprived by our coming—if we come—of a rich inheritance; what do you know of him?”
    Mr. Dent knew nothing; a country gentleman, he speculated, shrugging his shoulders.
    But what, in that case, did Mr. Highet know of Anne Guilfoyle?
    Mr. Dent was equally uninformed on this point. Whether the gentleman was acquainted with the terms of the will or no, he could not say.
    “We thought,” Mrs. Insel hesitantly put forward, “you see, we thought that if he did know, perhaps he might not be so—so rejoiced to meet us as one hopes a new neighbour will be.”
    But Anne spoke before Mr. Dent could pronounce an opinion on this head. “If he prove uncivil, we shall pay him in kind,” she said briskly. Maria was relieved to hear in her tone something of her wonted vigour. For the first time in half an hour, she released Anne’s hand. “If civil, then we likewise. Perhaps, at all events, we shall not need to stop there very long. Perhaps”—her voice began to fluctuate—“we need not go at all. We must reflect. We must consider.”
    She wants to talk to Ensley, thought Maria.
    Mr. Dent stood. “If you will forgive me—”
    The ladies, standing also, set him at liberty to go. He went, but not without turning to Anne, taking her hand, and saying in a very low tone, “Reflect and consider indeed, dear ma’am, but remember also that each day in this house…”
    But he could not bring himself to finish his sentence, and hurried