"No. I thought you would rather know in good time."
Hermione entered, fresh, fair, and smiling, not in the least heated with her hot walk. Somehow she always looked the same. Marjory did not rise, for Hermione was never treated as a guest here. The younger girl bent in her graceful manner for a kiss, and then sat down near the couch.
"It is a lovely day," she said.
"Too hot for Marjory," Mr. Fitzalan observed. "Mr. Dalrymple was not quite himself this morning, I think, was he?"
"No. It is the worry about Harvey."
Marjory's eyes opened more widely for a glance at her father.
"So Marjie has been saying," he remarked, "But Mr. Dalrymple has not been entirely as he should for some weeks."
Hermione wore an incredulous air. "He is very well and strong generally," she said. "Nothing was wrong with him until Harvey came."
"You have not noticed any difference? Well, I would keep him quiet. Don't let him exert himself. He is not so young as he was. And tell him from me not to think of Church this evening. Perhaps I may look in afterwards to see how he is."
Hermione was not so fond of receiving as of giving directions. Mr. Fitzalan often aroused in her a small spirit of opposition. She could not have told why, even if she was aware of the fact. Perhaps it was because he did not exactly rank as one of her devotees. Hermione was so accustomed to be "looked up to," as Marjory expressed it, that she could hardly understand being looked upon in any other mode; and though Mr. Fitzalan was most kind and fatherly, he did not bow to her opinion, nor did he cease treating her somewhat as if she were still a child. Hermione loved him as a dear old friend, but sometimes without doubt he did provoke her a little.