“To Norway,—to fish!”
“Yes. We’ve got rather a nice party. Clontarf is going, and Culpepper—”
“What, that horrid man!”
“He’s an excellent hand at fishing;—and Haddington Peebles, and—and—there’ll be six of us altogether; and we start this day week.”
“That’s rather sudden, Ludovic.”
“Yes, it is sudden; but we’re sick of London. I should not care to go so soon myself, but Clontarf and Culpepper say that the season is early this year. I must go down to Framley before I start—about my horses; and therefore I came to tell you that I shall be there to-morrow.”
“At Framley to-morrow! If you could put it off for three days I should be going myself.”
But Lord Lufton could not put it off for three days. It may be that on this occasion he did not wish for his mother’s presence at Framley while he was there; that he conceived that he should be more at his ease in giving orders about his stable if he were alone while so employed. At any rate he declined her company, and on the following morning did go down to Framley by himself.
“Mark,” said Mrs. Robarts, hurrying into her husband’s book-room about the middle of the day, “Lord Lufton is at home. Have you heard it?”
“What! here at Framley?”