Mrs. Leach had intended remaining in her present comfortable quarters for another fortnight. This odious telegram had upset her plans.
“Then, you will not return here?”
“Oh no. What would be the good of that?”
“It seems a pity. You will be losing all the lovely autumn tints. October is a charming month.”
“Yes; but it is not charming when some one at a distance is making ducks and drakes of your coin, and I’d rather see the colour of my own money again than any autumn tint,” was the practical remark.
“I have had a most delightful visit here. I shall never, never forget dear Clane, nor all your kindness and hospitality.”
“You must come to us in London.”
“Thank you so much, and I shall always be delighted to chaperon dear Maddie at any time. A girl like her is in such a difficult position. She is very young, you know, to go out without a married lady. Of course, you are a host in yourself; but——”
“But Lady Rachel and Mrs. Lorraine take Maddie out, you know,” broke in Mr. West, “and a girl can go anywhere with her father.”
“Now there, dear Mr. West, I differ with you totally—indeed I do. A girl should have an older woman as well—a woman for choice who has no young people of her own, who is well-connected, well-looking, well-dressed, and who knows the ropes, as they say.” She was sketching a portrait of herself. “And Madeline is so remarkably pretty, too, the observed of all observers. I am so fond of her. She is so sweet. I almost feel as if she were my own daughter. Ah! I never had a daughter!” (But she could have a step-daughter; and if she was once established as Madeline’s friend and chaperon, the rest would be an easy matter.)