Nevertheless, his dignity gets over it after stopping to refit, and he goes on with my Lady for Chesney Wold, lying only one night in London on the way to Lincolnshire.
Through the same cold sunlight, colder as the day declines, and through the same sharp wind, sharper as the separate shadows of bare trees gloom together in the woods, and as the Ghost's Walk, touched at the western corner by a pile of fire in the sky, resigns itself to coming night, they drive into the park.

The rooks, swinging in their lofty houses in the elm-tree avenue, seem to discuss the question of the occupancy of the carriage as it passes underneath, some agreeing that Sir Leicester and my Lady are come down, some arguing with malcontents who won't admit it, now all consenting to consider the question disposed of, now all breaking out again in violent debate, incited by one obstinate and drowsy bird who will persist in putting in a last contradictory croak.

Leaving them to swing and caw, the travelling chariot rolls on to the house, where fires gleam warmly through some of the windows, though not through so many as to give an inhabited expression to the darkening mass of front.

But the brilliant and distinguished circle will soon do that.
Mrs.Rouncewell is in attendance and receives Sir Leicester's customary shake of the hand with a profound curtsy.
"How do you do, Mrs.Rouncewell?
I am glad to see you." "I hope I have the honour of welcoming you in good health, Sir Leicester ?" "In excellent health, Mrs.Rouncewell." "My Lady is looking charmingly well," says Mrs.Rouncewell with another curtsy.
My Lady signifies, without profuse expenditure of words, that she is as wearily well as she can hope to be.
But Rosa is in the distance, behind the housekeeper; and my Lady, who has not subdued the quickness of her observation, whatever else she may have conquered, asks, "Who is that girl ?" "A young scholar of mine, my Lady.

Rosa." "Come here, Rosa!" Lady Dedlock beckons her, with even an appearance of interest.