To get Aunt William to go out on her Day, a thing she had not done for thirty years, was so great a triumph that he had little fear of not getting her to be on the right side. He knew she always made a point of disagreeing with his father on every subject under heaven, so he rubbed in Sir James's opposition, and gradually worked on her sentimental side until she was almost tearfully enthusiastic.
"How shall I behave? Go right in and tell your father he must consent?—or what?"
"Play for safety," said Savile.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE TWELFTH HOUR
Sir James was extremely annoyed with the weather. In his young days, as he remarked with bitterness, spring was spring, and it didn't thunder and snow in April. He was prattling pompously of the sunshine in the past, when a sudden heavy shower of hail, falling rather defiantly in spite of his hints, made him lose his temper. Sir James, looking angrily up at the sky, declared that unless it stopped within half an hour he would write to the Times about it.
Whether or not this threat had any real meteorological influence, there is no doubt that the clouds dispersed rather hastily, the sun hurriedly appeared, and the weather promptly prepared to enable Sir James to venture out, which he did with a gracious wave of the hand to the entire horizon, as though willing to say no more about it.
Sylvia had been as anxious for the thermometer to go up as her father himself, for it was several days now since she had seen Woodville alone. And he had been nervously counting the minutes until the moment of freedom, having, to-day, a stronger reason than ever before to desire a quiet talk.