"You have been up nearly half an hour."
He was almost guilty of a blush.
"So long!" he said, "I must have been thinking."
And he laughed, as he drew a chair forward. He waited until she was seated before he resumed his own; never, by word or deed, did he permit himself to grow lax in courtesy to her; and then he looked up at her with a smile.
"Have you come for a chat, my lady?" he said, calling her by her title in the mock-serious way in which he was accustomed to address her when they were alone.
"Yes, I have come for a chat, Leycester," she said, quietly.
"Does that mean a scold?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, but still smiling. "Your tone is suspicious, mother. Well, I am at your mercy."
"I have nothing to scold you for," said the countess, leaning back in the comfortable chair—all the chairs were comfortable in these rooms of his. "Do you feel that you deserve one?"
Lord Leycester was silent. If he had answered he might have been compelled to admit that perhaps there was some excuse for complaint in regard to his conduct that evening; silence was safest.
"No, I have not come to scold you, Leycester. I don't think I have ever done that," said the countess, softly.