A light broke over his face. "You can't possibly mean that it's this girl?" There was undoubted relief in his tone—but utter surprise, too, and even contempt. "Oh, but that's on all grounds utterly ridiculous!"
They were in the room again. "Don't say so, don't say so," I had just time to whisper.
Margaret came in, laughing and merry, recovered from her confusion, delighted with the chapel, she and Alison one another's slaves. While she worshiped him, she had almost got to ordering him about; she laughed at her own airs, and he industriously humored them. They were a pretty sight together. The grave careworn man at my side watched them, as I thought, with a closer interest. But it was time for us to go—Lord Fillingford's business had been long awaiting—and Margaret began to make her farewells, extracting from Alison a promise that she should come again soon, and that he would come again soon to Breysgate. I think that this was the first Fillingford had heard of his having been at Breysgate at all; his eyes looked wary at the news.
Margaret came to him. "Good-by, Lord Fillingford," she said with shy friendliness.
He looked intently at her. "I'm glad to have met a friend of my son's," he said gravely. She blushed again; he turned to me with brows knit and eyes full of brooding question.
On the way home Margaret was silent for a while; then she asked, "Did Lord Fillingford know my father?"
"Yes, he knew him slightly."
"Were they friends?"
"Well, no, I don't think they were, particularly. Not very congenial, I fancy."
"No, they wouldn't be," she agreed. "Father would have thought him dull and pompous, wouldn't he? But I think I should get to like him and"—she smiled audaciously—"I believe I could make him like me. He looks sad, though, poor man! Though I suppose he's got everything!"