went ahead. But you haven't shaken hands yet."
He glanced in at the dining-room before he went upstairs. The table was spread for dinner. Cut flowers were standing about in vases. The very silver had a festive shine.
"Again I have to be sorry," he told her. "I'm dining with Sir Tobias Beddow."
"And Miss Terry," she inquired, "is she well?"
When he went to climb the narrow stairs she refused to permit him to carry his bag. He guessed the reason—that he might be freer to support himself by the rail of the banisters. On the first small landing, which looked out at the back on to the Oratory and the graveyard of the Parish Church, there were still more flowers. When he reached his bedroom, three flights up, he found that his evening clothes had been all laid out and just as carefully as if Braithwaite—the old Braithwaite whom he had loved—had been there before him.
As she unpacked his bag, opening and closing drawers, "I shall have to look round for another valet," he said.
"Please don't." Her tone was sharp with earnestness.
Tabs felt sorry for her. She, too, like all the world was wanting the thing that she could never have. He wondered whether it wouldn't be kinder to tell her and let her know the worst. "But sha'n't I, Ann?"
With simple pathos, which was the more touching because it was so unconscious, she clasped her hands, "He might come back. He was never reported. My
letters were returned unopened. I've not given over hoping. I shouldn't like him to find that your Lordship—— If he found another man in his place, he might feel like he hadn't been wanted. Me and sister can manage——"