They were nearing home when he said, “You were in London—I heard from Lady Tramley.”
“Yes, I went up on business.”
“Did you? How are Lady Paton and Mary?”
“Very well. You don’t ask about my business,”—Camelia smiled round at him.
“Very blunt in me. What was the business, Camelia?” His answering smile made amends.
Camelia placed herself against her background.
“I am building model cottages! You should see how economical we have become! Your glory is diminished!”
“With all my heart!” cried Perior, with a laugh of real surprise and pleasure. “Lady Tramley did not tell me. Good for you, Célimène!”
It was delightful to bring him into the drawing-room that she had left only an hour before. Camelia almost fancied herself perfectly happy as she flung open the door with the announcement—
“Here is Alceste, Mamma!” No nervousness was possible before her mother and Mary; it required no effort to act for them since she had so successfully performed her part to him. Mrs. Jedsley was gone, but Mary and Lady Paton sat before the fire, Mary reading aloud. She dropped the book; Camelia’s voice, in her ears, sounded with a brazen clang of victory, and Perior seemed to her conquered, brought captive in an old bondage. She could hardly speak, hardly welcome him; his return crushed every hope of his liberation, the joy of seeing him was a mere desolation. With a settled dulness she listened to them—all three talking and exclaiming.