When he had given his wife greeting, he said, "I'm tired to-night. We must talk over this affair of Joan's to-morrow."
"You are pleased, Edward, are you not?" she asked. "He is such a dear boy; and they are very much in love with one another."
"I must hear all about it to-morrow," he said, composing himself for sleep. His usual habit was to go to sleep the moment he got into bed; but he was always ready to talk, if there was anything he wanted to talk about. He would freely express irritation if he was upset about anything, and it sometimes seemed as if he were ready to talk all night. But he would suddenly leave off and say, "Well, good night, Nina. God bless you!" and be fast asleep five minutes later. He never omitted this nightly benediction. Until he said "God bless you, Nina," it was permitted to her to speak to him. When he had said it, he was officially asleep, and not to be disturbed.
He did not say it to-night after his postponement of discussion, but his movement showed that "good-night" was considered to have been said. The omission was ominous.
For a very long time there was complete silence. Then the Squire turned in bed, with a sound that might have been a half-stifled groan, but also an involuntary murmur. Again there was a long silence. Mrs. Clinton lay quite still, in the darkness. Then he turned again, gently, so as not to wake her if she were asleep, and moaned.
Her voice, fully awake, broke through the silence, "Edward, you are not asleep. Porter said you were not well."
He made no reply for a moment. Then he turned towards her and said, "Inverell—he is coming to see me here?"
"Yes. He is coming on Friday."
"You must put him off, Nina. You must put off the whole thing for a time."
He must have expected an expression of surprise, or a question. But none came.