But the uneventful week was to end in events. It was the 1st of October. I remember it because it was mother's birthday, and the esquire, who had never before failed to come and congratulate her personally, only sent his gift of flowers by a servant. I know I felt guilty, and realized something of what father had meant, for I fear mother was hurt.
When I went into the parlor at tea-time, mother and the bailiff were there alone. They were evidently engaged in a deep and earnest conversation.
I thought it was about Mr. Hoad, who had rarely been at the Grange of late, but who was closeted with father that afternoon, somewhat to my own vague anxiety. I had a notion that mother had spoken to Harrod upon the subject before, and thought at first that her sudden silence was only because she did not care for one of us girls to know that she so far confided in the bailiff. But a certain half-confused look, that was very foreign to mother, led me to wonder whether, after all, she had been talking to him about Mr. Hoad that time; and when she sent me to call father in, she bade me shut the door after me, although I was only going across the passage.
If I had not been so very preoccupied I should have been more alarmed than I was at the sound of Mr. Hoad's voice, raised in loud tones, as I approached the library door, and I should have taken more anxious note of father's face, as he only just opened it to bid me tell mother he was busy just now but would come presently.
She looked vexed when I gave her the message, and took her seat before the tea-tray with an aggrieved air. "I don't know why, if Mr. Hoad doesn't care to drink tea with us himself, he should choose this particular moment to keep your father busy and away from his food," she complained.
"I suppose it's something very particular," said Joyce, in her even tones, and without noticing the frown on Harrod's brow. "Mr. Hoad is always so polite; it must be something particular."
"Very particular!" repeated mother, pursing up her lips. "I don't know why it should be so particular it couldn't be said at the table, only that men must always needs fancy they've got very weighty and secret matters on hand. It was only about those unlucky hops, for I heard him mention them as he went in. Why he must needs remind father of his losses, I don't know. It's bad enough without that, and when I wanted him to cheer up a bit. The hops can't matter to Mr. Hoad. But men are so stupid and inconsiderate!"
We finished tea and drew round the fire. It was dark—half-past six o'clock and more—and we had had tea by lamplight. Mother remarked how quickly the evenings were drawing in. Then she suggested sending again for father, but Harrod begged her to be patient.
"Mr. Hoad must be going soon or he will have a dark drive home," he said.