“Very well, I will. No, I will call.”
Sir Charles called, and welcomed him home, and asked him to dinner. Angelo received him rather stiffly at first, but accepted his invitation.
He came, looking a good deal older and graver, but almost as handsome as ever; only somewhat changed in mind. He had become a zealous clergyman, and his soul appeared to be in his work. He was distant and very respectful to Lady Bassett; I might say obsequious. Seemed almost afraid of her at first.
That wore off in a few months; but he was never quite so much at his ease with her as he had been before he left some years ago.
And so did time roll on.
Every morning and every night Lady Bassett used to look wistfully at Sir Charles, and say—
“Are you happy, dear? Are you sure you are happy?”
And he used always to say, and with truth, that he was the happiest man in England, thanks to her.
Then she used to relax the wild and wistful look with which she asked the question, and give a sort of sigh, half content, half resignation.
In due course another fine boy came, and filled the royal office of baby in his turn.