Ann Veronica, after a last survey of the dinner appointments, followed him, rustling, came to his side by the high brass fender, and touched two or three ornaments on the mantel above the cheerful fireplace. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. The man’s statement was explicit, and spoken with confidence. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. She would never return to her father; that resolution was final.
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