This served as a pretext for a move indoors, which was made accordingly.
“So you’re all determined to go back this evening,” said Naylor, as they sat in the verandah after dinner.
“I think we must,” answered Ethel; “aunt will think we are never coming back.”
Hicks, who at the other end of the verandah was “assisting” Laura to play with the children—these having finished their morning’s lessons, had invaded the party—pricked up his ears and looked rueful in advance. If they were persuaded to stay, he would have to go anyhow; but Ethel was firm, and he breathed freely again.
“But, Claverton, you and Miss Strange might stop—to-night, at any rate,” persisted Naylor.
It was Ethel’s turn to feel apprehensive. She had schooled herself into accepting the situation, and accepting it patiently. The strife had been a hard one, and she had suffered in it—suffered acutely, but she had conquered. Yet the struggle had not been won in a moment, and it had left its traces; but she seemed not to show them; she was a trifle graver, and more subdued in manner, that was all. A few days ago she had longed, with an intense longing, to get away—away from the sound of his voice, from the glance of his eyes; yet now that it is a question as to whether they shall return without him, her heart beats quick, and she seems to hang upon the verdict which they are all discussing so calmly.
“I don’t think we can to-day, Naylor,” answered Claverton, a glance at Lilian having satisfied him that she did not favour the scheme.
“But look here,” Naylor was beginning, when his wife cut him short.
“Why shouldn’t we inspan and go back with them, Ned? We can leave Seringa Vale again before breakfast if you like, and there’s something I want to see mother about.”
“All right, we’ll do that. Don’t you think Seringa Vale is rather a good name for a place, Miss Strange?”