Cecil had never been in the house before, having only left her card,
though she had often met the sisters. She found herself in a
carpeted hall, like a supplementary sitting-room, where two
gentlemen had been leaning over the wide hearth. One, a handsome
benignant-looking old man, with a ruddy face and abundant white
whiskers, came forward with a hearty greeting. "Ah! young Mrs.
Poynsett! Delighted to see you!--Frank Charnock, you're come in
good time; we are just going down to see the puppies before
luncheon. Only I'll take Mrs. Poynsett to the ladies first.
Duncombe, you don't know Mrs. Raymond Poynsett--one must not say
senior bride, but the senior's bride. Is that right?"
"No papa," said a bright voice from the stairs, "you haven't it at
all right; Mrs. Charnock Poynsett, if you please--isn't it?"
"I believe so," replied Cecil. "Charnock always seems my right
name."
"And you have all the right to retain it that Mrs. Poynsett had to
keep hers," said Lady Tyrrell, as they went up-stairs to her
bedroom. "How is she?"
"As usual, thank you; always on the sofa.
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