Goodnatured he was, without doubt; for as the three ladies were sitting down to a sociable morning of work and reading aloud, he came in to say he was going to see after Tom Madison, and to ask if there were any commands for Northwold, with his checked shooting-jacket pockets so puffed out that his aunt began patting and inquiring.  ‘Provisions for the House Beautiful,’ he said, as forth came on the one side a long rough brown yam.  ‘I saw it at a shop in London,’ he said, ’and thought the Faithfull sisters would like to be reminded of their West Indian feasts.’  And, ‘to make the balance true,’ he had in the other pocket a lambswool shawl of gorgeous dyes, with wools to make the like, and the receipt, in what he called ‘female algebra,’ the long knitting-pins under his arm like a riding-whip.  He explained that he thought it would be a winter’s work for Miss Salome to imitate it, and that she would succour half-a-dozen families with the proceeds; and Mrs. Ponsonby was pleased to hear him speak so affectionately of the two old maiden sisters.  They were the nieces of an old gentleman to whom the central and handsomest house of Dynevor Terrace had been let.  He had an annuity which had died with him, and they inherited very little but the furniture with which they had lived on in the same house, in hopes of lodgers, and paying rent to Mrs. Frost when they had any.  There was a close friendship and perfect understanding between her and them, and, as she truly assured them, full and constant rent could hardly have done her as much good as their neighbourhood.  Miss Mercy was the Sister of Charity of all Northwold; Miss Salome, who was confined to her chair by a complaint in her knee, knitted and made fancy-works, the sale of which furnished funds for her charities.  She was highly educated, and had a great knowledge of natural history.  Fitzjocelyn had given their abode the name of the House Beautiful, as being redolent of the essence of the Pilgrim’s Progress; and the title was so fully accepted by their friends, that the very postman would soon know it.  He lingered, discoursing on this topic, while Mary repacked his parcels, and his aunt gave him a message to Jane Beckett, to send the carpenter to No. 5 before Mary’s visit of inspection; but she prophesied that he would forget; and, in fact, it was no good augury that he left the knitting-pins behind him on the table, and Mary was only just in time to catch him with them at the front door.

‘Thank you, Mary—­you are the universal memory,’ he said.  ’What rest you must give my father’s methodical spirit!  I saw you pile up all those Blackwoods of mine this morning, just as he was going to fall upon them.’

‘If you saw it, I should have expected you to do it yourself,’ said Mary, in her quaint downright manner.

‘Never expect me to do what is expected,’ answered he.

‘Do you do that because it is not expected?’ said Mary, feeling almost as if he were beyond the pale of reason, as she saw him adjusting a plant of groundsel in his cap.