"Poor old Uncle Wilton. He is alone and ill, then?"
"He is always alone, so I do not see that that fact adds anything to his being ill."
"Of course, I must go to him. I didn't want to, though. Not just now."
He looked up at his mother's handsome face, almost as though he longed to find some tenderness in it; but there was none. Lady Jane, a superb figure in her brocade and diamonds, was calmly waving her fan to and fro, as if no such things as illness or loneliness or death existed in the world.
"You won't rush away, headlong? You can spare a day or two to me—and to Kitty?" She smiled frostily. "Kitty has been looking forward to your coming, Anthony."
"It is very good of Lady Kitty," he said, contracting his eyebrows in a frown. "She is still with you, then?"
"She is good enough to brighten up my loneliness, dear child. I don't know what I should do without Kitty."
"You seem to get on well together."
Again his fingers drummed impatiently.
"She is a dear child to me," said Lady Jane, her face becoming almost warm. "I wish she had been my daughter, really."