nd Sir Patrick was the next person who returned.

He was thoughtful, but in no sense depressed. Judging by appearances,
his errand to Craig Fernie had certainly not ended in disappointment.
The old gentleman hummed his favorite little Scotch air--rather
absently, perhaps--and took his pinch of snuff from the knob of his
ivory cane much as usual. He went to the library bell and summoned a
servant.

"Any body been here for me?"--"No, Sir Patrick."--"No letters?"--"No,
Sir Patrick."--"Very well. Come up stairs to my room, and help me on
with my dressing-gown." The man helped him to his dressing-gown and
slippers "Is Miss Lundie at home?"--"No, Sir Patrick. They're all away
with my lady on an excursion."--"Very good. Get me a cup of coffee; and
wake me half an hour before dinner, in case I take a nap." The servant
went out. Sir Patrick stretched himself on the sofa. "Ay! ay! a little
aching in the back, and a certain stiffness in the legs. I dare say
the pony feels just as I do. Age, I suppose, in both cases? Well! well!
well! let's try and be young at heart. 'The rest' (as Pope says) 'is
leather and prunella.'" He returned resignedly to his little Scotch air.
The servant came in with the coffee. And then the room was quiet, except
for the low humming of insects and the gentle rustling of the creepers
at the window. For five minutes or so Sir Patrick sipped his coffee, and
meditated--by no means in the character of a man who was depressed by
any recent disappointment. In five minutes more he was asleep.

A little later, and the party returned from the ruins.

With the one exception of their lady-leader, the whole expedition was
depressed--Smith and Jones, in particular, being quite speechless. Lady
Lundie alone still met feudal antiquities with a cheerful front. She
had cheated the man who showed the ruins of his shilling, and she was
thoroughly well satisfied with herself. Her voice was flute-like in
its melody, and the celebrated "smile" had never been in better order.
"Deeply interesting!" said her ladyship, descending from the carriage
with ponderous grace, and addressing herself to Geoffrey, lounging under
the portico of the house. "You have had a loss, Mr. Delamayn. The next
time you go out for a walk, give your hostess a word of warning, and you
won't repent it." Blanche (looking very weary and anxious) questioned
the servant, the moment she got in, about Arnold and her uncle. Sir
Patrick was invisible up stairs.