Mount Royal: A Novel. Volume 3 of 3

In Three Volumes
VOL. III.
LONDON JOHN AND ROBERT MAXWELL MILTON HOUSE, SHOE LANE, FLEET STREET 1882
Ballantyne Press BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO., EDINBURGH CHANDOS STREET, LONDON
The next morning was damp, and grey, and mild, no autumn wind stirring the long sweeping branches of the cedars on the lawn, the dead leaves falling silently, the world all sad and solemn, clad in universal greyness. Christabel was up early, with her boy, in the nursery—watching him as he splashed about his bath, and emerged rosy and joyous, like an infant river-god sporting among the rushes; early at family prayers in the dining room, a ceremony at which Mr. Tregonell rarely assisted, and to which Dopsy and Mopsy came flushed and breathless with hurry, anxious to pay all due respect to a hostess whom they hoped to visit again, but inwardly revolting against the unreasonableness of eight-o'clock prayers.
Angus, who was generally about the gardens before eight, did not appear at all this morning. The other men were habitually late—breakfasting together in a free-and-easy manner when the ladies had left the dining-room—so Christabel, Miss Bridgeman, and the Miss Vandeleurs sat down to breakfast alone, Dopsy giving little furtive glances at the door every now and then, expectant of Mr. Hamleigh's entrance.
That expectancy became too painful for the damsel's patience, by-and-by, as the meal advanced.
I wonder what has become of Mr. Hamleigh, she said. This is the first time he has been late at breakfast.
Perhaps he is seeing to the packing of his portmanteau, said Miss Bridgeman. Some valets are bad packers, and want superintendence.
Packing! cried Dopsy, aghast. Packing! What for?
He is going to London this afternoon. Didn't you know?
Dopsy grew pale as ashes. The shock was evidently terrible, and even Jessie pitied her.