J. S. Fletcher

“ The old man had cleared much of the courtyard of snow, but beyond its walls the drifts were deep. From the gate I looked across them with a certain amount of impatience—I wanted to see more of the country, and I had notions that Miss Durham might not be unwilling to act as guide to it.
“Don’t think you’re going to be a prisoner for very long,” she suddenly remarked, interpreting my silent contemplation of the vast waste of whiteness. “At this time of the year the snow goes quickly. You needn’t be surprised if you find it vanished when you wake to-morrow, thick as it is.” ”

“ Craye thinks he might be dull?”
“Mr. Craye thinks nothing of the sort,” I retorted hastily. “He’s overwhelmed on all sides. You’re extremely kind, Mr. Parslewe; your sense of hospitality is princely.”
“Pooh, pooh!” he said. “We’ll just be glad. And there’s no need to be dull, my girl, when you’re about!” he added, nodding at his ward. “A lively damsel, this, Craye; the air of the hills is in her blood!”
“Miss Durham, sir, is, I am sure, one of those admirable hostesses who could never let a guest be anything but happy,” I said, with a glance towards the object of my compliment. ”

“ Craye thinks he could paint a picture of the house, with the hills for a background, Jimmie,” remarked Miss Durham. “You’d buy that, wouldn’t you?”
“Hoots, toots! We’ll see, woman, we’ll see!” answered Mr. Parslewe. “There’s finer subjects than this old place, but you’ll not see them to-day, my lad,” he added, turning to me. “The snow’s thick and deep all round our walls, and what you’ll see of the land for the next twenty-four hours, and maybe more, ’ll be from the top of our tower. And a grand observation post it is, too!”
He took me up the tower after breakfast was over. ”