“Little indeed!”
“I called, but you were at the Strangeways’.”
“They are very kind to me. When is your holiday?”
“Not till spring, but I may get a few days in the autumn: you will be at home?”
“As far as I know.”
“If I thought for a moment you cared to see me; but you have shown few signs of wishing it of late.”
“Frank—if I could make you understand—”
They were walking towards a recess, when Lady Tyrrell fastened upon Raymond. “Pray find my sister; she forgets that we have to be at Lady Granby’s—Oh! are you there, Lenore! Will you see her down, Mr. Poynsett? Well, Frank, did you get as far as you intended?”
And she went down on his arm, her last words being, “Take care of yourself till we meet at home. For this one year I call Sirenwood home—then!”
Raymond and Lenore said no more to one another. The ladies were put into the carriage. The elder brother bade Frank take care of Cecil, and started for Westminster with the poor lad’s blank and disappointed face still before his eyes, hoping at least it was well for him, but little in love with life, or what it had to offer.