Sir George Tressady, vol 1
The carriage was standing under the pillared porch of Malford House, and the great house-doors, thrown back upon an inner flight of marble steps, gave passage to a blaze of light. George, descending, had just shaken himself awake, and handed the things he held to a footman, when there was a sudden uproar from within. A crowd of figures--men and women, the men cheering, the women clapping and laughing--ran down the inner steps towards him. He was surrounded, embraced, slapped on the back, and finally carried triumphantly into the hall.
"Bring him in!" said an exultant voice; "and stand back, please, and let his mother get at him."
The laughing group fell back, and George, blinking, radiant, and abashed, found himself in the arms of an exceedingly sprightly and youthful dame, with pale, frizzled hair, and the figure of seventeen.
"Oh, you dear, great, foolish thing!" said the lady, with the voice and the fervour, moreover, of seventeen. "So you've got in