Joy looked up with a pleasant smile which belied the chilly feeling about her heart. She felt that she must pretend ignorance; her father might, later on, hold a too ready acceptance as suspicious:
“What, Daddy? Who? Whose rudeness?”
“That—that gentleman whom I asked to dine with us. Mr. Hardy.”
“Perhaps he may not have got your letter.”
“How do you mean, daughter? He must have got it; I directed it to the address he gave me himself.”
“But Daddy, he may be away. You remember he told you at dinner that day in the Holland that he had important business. It may have been prolonged you know. He may not even be in London.”
“Then he should see that his letters are duly sent on to him.”
“Certainly he ought. But perhaps Daddy he’s not as careful as we are. He may not be a man of business!” Colonel Ogilvie smiled:
“I’m afraid that is a very bad argument my dear. You have just used the opposite!”
“How so, Daddy?” she asked wrinkling up her brows.