“The Pimpernels?” Edgar repeated, confused and wondering; but before he could ask another question the door was thrown open, and Wilkins appeared in front of the invading party. Wilkins’ face was a study of suppressed consternation and dismay. He did his office as if he were going to the stake, stern necessity compelling him in the shape of those three solid figures behind. “Mr., Mrs., and Miss Pimpernel,” said Wilkins, with a voice in which the protest of a martyr was audible behind the ordinary formality. Edgar did not know anything about the Pimpernels. He saw before him a large man, made larger by light summer costume, which magnified his breadth and diminished his height, with sparkling jewelled studs in his shirt, and a great coil of watch-chain spreading across his buff waistcoat; and a large lady, enveloped in black silk and lace, which somehow, though so totally different, seemed to have the same effect of enlarging and setting forth her amplitude of form. Behind these two there appeared, seen by intervals, the slim figure of a tall girl, with a pretty blushing face. Nothing could have made Edgar uncivil--not even the terrible fact, had he known it, that Mr. Pimpernel was a Liverpool cotton-broker, such a man as had never before made his appearance in the capacity of visitor within the stately shades of Arden. But he was not aware of that awful fact. He knew only that Clare had been moved by horror at the sight of them, and that she stood now at as great a distance as possible, and made a very solemn curtsey, and looked as if she were assisting at a funeral. The Pimpernels, who had produced this melancholy effect, were themselves so utterly unlike it, at once in manners and appearance, that the situation affected Edgar rather with comic than with solemn feelings. “I am very glad to see you, and to welcome you home, Mr. Arden,” said Mr. Pimpernel, when they had all sat down in the form of a semicircle, of which Edgar and Clare formed the base. “I can’t pretend to be an old neighbour, but we have been here long enough to take an interest in the county. I have always taken a great interest in the county, as my wife knows.” “Yes, indeed,” said that ample woman. “Since ever we settled here Mr. Pimpernel has quite thrown himself into Arden ways. We were so very lucky in getting the Red House--the only one in the neighbourhood. It is wicked to say so, but I felt so much obliged to poor Mr. Dalton when he died and let us have it--I did indeed. It was quite obliging of him to die.”