"But to-day—your one afternoon at home?"
"I don't think that matters. We could not walk in such rain. And even if we could, to make peace with Mr. Carden-Cox ought to come first."
Did he care? Not, certainly, as she did. Fulvia saw this with a sharp pang, yet Nigel's manner was not cold or careless. He only spoke with quiet resolution, as of an unquestionable duty.
"If uncle Arthur had but chosen some other day!"
"He has not. I think you must not refuse."
Fulvia yielded to his decision.
At "a quarter to three precisely" a closed fly appeared, and she was ready. She looked wistfully at Nigel as he held open the front door, then stood under the porch putting up an umbrella.
"It doesn't matter so much to you, of course," she murmured, "but I am disappointed! I shall feel cross with uncle all the afternoon."
"No, you will not. It would make mischief. A good deal may depend upon you to-day."
"Why? How?"