“You don’t seem to be much afraid of my anger.”
“I think perhaps your gratitude might be the more dangerous of the two.”
While he was struggling between a new-found prudence, and a natural desire to inquire further into her meaning, a door upstairs was heard to shut, and presently Laura Ussher came sauntering into the room.
“You’re up early, Nancy,” she said pleasantly.
“I thought I ought to recognize the return of the wanderers in some way—particularly, as I hear we are to lose one of them so soon.”
Mrs. Ussher glanced quickly at her cousin. “Are you leaving us, Max?”
“I’m sorry to say I’ve just had word that I must, and I told the man to make arrangements for me to get that twelve-something-or-other train.”
Mrs. Ussher did not change a muscle. “I’m sorry you have to go,” she said. “We shall all miss you. By the way, you won’t be able to get anything before the four-eighteen. That midday train is taken off in winter. Didn’t the footman tell you? Stupid young man; but he’s new and has not learnt the trains yet, I suppose. Do you want to send a telegram? They have to be telephoned here, but if you write it out I’ll have it sent for you.”
“How wonderful you are, Laura,” murmured Mrs. Almar.
Mrs. Ussher looked vague. “In what way, dear?”