“Geoff! my dear Geoff!” cried his mother running to the door after him, but for once Geoff paid no attention. He hurried down-stairs, clearing them four or five steps at a time. The ladies could not have followed him if they would. The door of Sir Henry’s business room stood open, and he could see an old woman seated like a statue, in perfect stillness, on a bench against the wall. She wore a large grey cloak with a hood falling back upon her shoulders, and a white cap, and sat with her hands crossed in her lap, waiting. She raised her eyes quickly when he came in with a look of anxiety and expectation, but when she found it was not the person she expected, bowed her fine head resignedly and relapsed into quiet. The delay which is always so irksome did not seem to affect her. There was something in the pose of the figure which showed that to be seated there quite still and undisturbed was not disagreeable to her. She was not impatient. She was an old woman and glad to rest; she could wait. “You are waiting for Sir Henry?” Geoff said, in his eagerness. “Have you seen him? Can I do anything for you?” “No, sir. I hope you’ll forgive me rising. I have walked far and I’m tired. Time is not of so much consequence now as it used to be. I can bide.” She gave him a faint smile as she spoke, and looked at him with eyes undimmed, eyes that reminded him of the child at Penninghame. Her voice was fine too, large and melodious, and there was nothing fretful or fidgety about her. Except for one line in her forehead everything about her was calm. She could bide. And this is a power which gives its possessor unbounded superiority over the impatient and restless. Geoff was all curiosity, excitement, and eagerness. “I don’t think Sir Henry will have any time for you to-day,” he said; “tell me what it is. I will do all I can for you. I should like to be of use to you. Sir Henry is going to his luncheon presently. I don’t think you will see him to-day.” Just at this moment a servant came in with the same information, but it was given in a somewhat different tone. “Look here, old lady,” said the man, “you’ll have to clear out of this. There’s a party this afternoon, and Sir Henry he hasn’t got any time for the likes of you. So march is the word.--I beg your lordship ten thousand pardons. I didn’t see as your lordship was there.” “You had better learn to be civil to every one,” said Geoff, indignantly; “beg _her_ pardon, not mine. You are--Mrs. Bampfylde, I think? May I speak to you, since Sir Henry cannot see you? I have very urgent business----”