Gwladys blindly held out her hand, and Ivor took it in his.
"Well, Mishtress, and how are you?" he asked, in as cool a manner as he could command. A slight tremor in his voice was the only sign of feeling—there was not even the friendly "thee" and "thou." There was no tender, meaning glance—no pressure of the hand. She had not expected it—nay, would have resented it—but still the tone of indifference was painful to her, although she was perfectly aware it was assumed, and she answered in the same commonplace tones:
"I am well, thank you."
And Hugh filled up the silence that followed with his loud and hearty greetings.
"You will stay and have supper with us?" said Gwladys.
"Oh, no!" interrupted Hugh; "I am going to sup with him to-night. I will ask Mari to come and stay with thee."
"No," said Gwladys, "I would rather not. I have enough to do to fill up my time to-night."
"Wel, nos da, Mishtress," said Ivor; and he and Hugh left, disappearing together through the gloaming.
Gwladys looked after them with a set white face, and then turned wearily up the stairs. Calling to Madlen, she said, in a calm voice:
"When the Mishteer comes in, tell him I was tired and went to bed."