unnecessary to wait here for his recovery,” Mr. Tredegar pursued, as though setting forth a fact which had not hitherto presented itself to the more limited intelligence of his hearers.
Mr. Langhope emitted a short laugh, and Mrs. Ansell answered gently: “She says she detests the long journey.”
Mr. Tredegar rose and gathered up his letters with a gesture of annoyance. “In that case—if I had been notified earlier of this decision, I might have caught the morning train,” he interrupted himself, glancing resentfully at his watch.
“Oh, don’t leave us, Tredegar,” Mr. Langhope entreated. “We’ll reason with her—we’ll persuade her to go back by the three-forty.”
Mrs. Ansell smiled. “She telegraphed at seven. Cicely and the governess are already on their way.”
“At seven? But, my dear friend, why on earth didn’t you tell us?”
“I didn’t know till a few minutes ago. Bessy called me in as I was coming down.”
“Ah—” Mr. Langhope murmured, meeting her eyes for a fraction of a second. In the encounter, she appeared to communicate something more than she had spoken, for as he stooped to pick up his paper he said, more easily: “My dear Tredegar, if we’re in a
box there’s no reason why we should force you into it
[ 84 ]
