, he said, "You are welcome to Tilney, my dear boy; I am heartily
glad to see you here."

Tony turned and pulled the bell; the deep summons echoed loudly, and a
number of small dogs joined in the uproar at the same time.

"There's 'the deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home,'" said Skeffy,
while he threw the end of his cigar away.

A servant soon appeared and ushered them into a large low-ceilinged
room, with fireplaces of antique fashion, the chimney-pieces of dark
oak, surmounted by massive coats of arms glowing in all the colors of
heraldry. It was eminently comfortable in all its details of fat low
ottomans, deep easy-chairs, and squat cushions; and although the three
windows which lighted it looked out upon a lawn, the view was bounded
by a belt of trees, as though to convey that it was a room in which
snugness was to be typified, to the exclusion of all that pretended to
elegance. A massive and splendidly bound Bible, showing little signs of
use, lay on a centre table; a very well-thumbed "Peerage" was beside it.

"I say, Tony, this is evidently Aunt Maxwell's own drawing-room. It has
all the peculiar grimness of an old lady's sanctum; and I declare that
fat old dog, snoring away on the rug, looks like a relation." While he
stooped down to examine the creature more closely, the door opened,
and Mrs. Maxwell, dressed in bonnet and shawl, and with a small garden
watering-pot in her hand, entered. She only saw Tony; and, running
towards him with her open hand, said, "You naughty boy, did n't I tell
you not to come here?"

Tony blushed deeply, and blurted something about being told or ordered
to come by Mrs. Trafford.

"Well, well; it does n't matter now; there 's no danger. It's not
'catching,' the doctor says, and she'll be up tomorrow. Dear me! and
who is this?" The latter question was addressed to Skeffy, who had just
risen from his knees.

"Mr. Skeffington Darner, ma'am," said Tony.

"And who are you, then?"

"Tony Butler: I thought you knew me."

"To be sure I do, and delighted to see you too. And this Pickle is
Skeff, is he?"

"Dear aunt, let me embrace you," cried Skeffy, rushing rapturously into
her arms.

"Well, I declare!" said the old lady, looking from one to the other; "I
thought, if it was you, Skeff, what a great fine tall man you had grown;
and there you are, the same little creature I saw you last."

"Little, aunt! what do you mean by little? Standard of the Line! In
France I shou