Mr.Whitelaw's notion of tea was a solid meal, which left him independent of the chances of supper, and yet open to do something in that way; in case any light kickshaw, such as liver and bacon, a boiled sheep's head, or a beef-steak pie, should present itself to his notice.
Ellen roused herself from her long reverie at last.

There was the sound of wheels upon the cart-track across the wide open field in front of the house.
"Here comes Mr.Whitelaw," she said, looking out into the gathering dusk; "and there's some one with him." "Some one with him!" cried Mrs.Tadman.

"Why, my goodness, who can that be ?" She ran to the window and peered eagerly out.

The cart had driven up to the door by this time, and Mr.Whitelaw and his companion were alighting.
The stranger was rather a handsome man, Mrs.Tadman saw at the first glance, tall and broad-shouldered, clad in dark-gray trousers, a short pilot-coat, and a wide-awake hat; but with a certain style even in this rough apparel which was not the style of agricultural Malsham, an unmistakable air that belongs to a dweller in great cities.
"I never set eyes upon him before," exclaimed Mrs.Tadman, aghast with wonder; for visitors at Wyncomb were of the rarest, and an unknown visitor above all things marvellous.
Mr.Whitelaw opened the house-door, which opened straight into a little lobby between the two parlours.

There was a larger door and a spacious stone entrance-hall at one end of the house; but that door had not been opened within the memory of man, and the hall was only used as a storehouse now-a-days.