"Thanks," I replied. "It is quite a case of speeding the parting guest."
Now this was unkind to Albinia. She never can withstand her husband, but the gratification which beamed from his rotund face was not reflected in hers. I thought her even a little depressed in her apathetic way.
Craven showed no signs of being affected by my sharp utterance, but drawled out his next inquiry, "I believe you—a—start some time this morning—a—my dear Constance."
"The twelve o'clock train. Different lines don't fit in their time-tables well," I said. "It is unkind to passengers. I shall have two changes, and scant time for either."
"No doubt—a—if one train is missed, another runs later," said Craven.
"No doubt," I answered. "But I don't particularly want three or four hours' delay."
"I believe you—a—change trains at—a—at Hurst," said Craven.
"That is my first change," I replied. "The second is at Glynde Junction." But Craven was talking, not listening, so I stopped.
"At Hurst,—yes. Just so,—yes. To be sure,—yes. No doubt you will obtain lunch there,—yes, a very good plan. You will write and inform Albinia soon—inform Albinia as to your welfare—ahem. I may say that—a—I believe—a—that I feel no doubt whatever you will do well—ahem—will do excellently well in your new sphere. Yes, I may say—excellently. You have acted hitherto an exemplary part in the care of—a—your worthy relative,—looking for no return."
This was quite true. Aunt Lavinia cared for me in childish days, and I have cared for her in later years. It was a matter of course that I should do so. She has depended upon me entirely. But I have had no thought of reward. I always knew that the greater part of her income consisted of a life annuity. And it was my friends, not I, who were disappointed when, after her death, it became known that with the exception of one hundred pounds everything at her disposal was left to Albinia, not to me.