“So very kind of Duke,” they said.
Esther had quite forgotten all her dread of him, and never was happier than when he was listening to all that had amused her in the gaieties which she liked much better in the past than in the present.
The whole was finished at last, after many a pleasant discussion and reunion scene, and the books were sent to the binder. Fordham was eager for them to come home, and rather annoyed at some delays which made it doubtful whether they would be received before he, with his mother and sister, were to leave town. It was late, and June had come in, and the weight of London air was oppressing him and making him weaker, and his mother, anxious to get him into sea air, had made no fresh engagements. It was a surprise to meet him at All Saints on St. Peter’s day.
“Come with us, Infanta,” he said, pausing at the door of the carriage. “I am to have my drive early to-day, as the ladies are going to this great garden-party.”
Sydney said she would walk home with Mrs. Brownlow, and be taken up when Babie was set down.
Fordham gave the word to go to the binder’s.
“I should have thought you had better have gone into some clearer air,” said his mother, for he looked very languid.
“There will be time for a turn in the park afterwards,” he said; “and the books were to be ready yesterday, if there is any faith in binders.”
The books were ready, and Fordham insisted on having them deposited on the seat beside him, in spite of all offers of sending them; and a smiling—
“Oh, Duke, your name should have been Babie,” from his mother.