“Yes, sir.”
Somewhat reassured by this, but at the same time not a little agitated, Tony drew nigh the carriage. Mrs. Trafford was wrapped up in a large fur mantle,—the day was a cold one,—and lay back without making any movement to salute, except a slight bend of the head as he approached.
“I have to apologize for stopping you,” said she, coldly; “but I had a message to give you from Mr. Maitland, who left this a couple of days ago.”
“Is he gone,—gone for good?” asked Tony, not really knowing what he said.
“I don't exactly know what 'for good' means,” said she, smiling faintly; “but I believe he has not any intention to return here. His message was to say that, being much pressed for time, he had not an opportunity to reply to your note.”
“I don't think it required an answer,” broke in Tony, sternly.
“Perhaps not as regarded you, but possibly it did as respected himself.”
“I don't understand you.”
“What I mean is, that, as you had declined his offer, you might possibly, from inadvertence or any other cause, allude to it; whereas he expressly wished that the subject should never be mentioned.”
“You were apparently very much in his confidence?” said Tony, fixing his eyes steadily on her.