Then heavy steps on the stairs and a knock at his door. "Very sorry to disturb you, sir," came the muffled tones through the door, almost cringingly apologetic, "but could you get up, sir, just for a minute? Miss Davenant from the Hall wants a word with you—about your dawg, sir, as I understand. If you could oblige, sir—very inconvenient, I know, sir, but the Hall is very highly thought of in the village, sir." [65] [65] "What on earth—?" said Mr. Basingstoke, very loudly, and got out of bed. "I'll dress and come down," he said. He did dress, to the accompaniment of voices below—replaced, that is, the collar, tie, and boots he had taken off—and then he began to pack, his mind busy with the phrases in which he would explain that a house in which these nocturnal disturbances occurred was not fit for the sojourning of. . . . No, hang it all, that would not be fair to the landlord—he must find some other tale. When he had kept the lady waiting as long as he thought a man might have kept her who had really a toilet to make, he went slowly down. Voices sounded in the parlor, and a slab of light from its door lay across the sanded passage. He went in; the landlord went out, closing the door almost too discreetly. Mr. Basingstoke and the aunt looked at each other. She was very upright and wore brown gloves and a brown, boat-shaped hat with an aggressive quill. "You are here, then?" she said. "Where else, madam?" said Mr. Basingstoke. "I should like you," said the aunt, deliberately, "to be somewhere else within the next hour. I will make it worth your while." "Thank you," Edward murmured. [66] [66] "I think I ought to tell you," said she, "that I saw through that business of the dog. He was well trained, I admit. But I can't have my niece annoyed in this way."
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