They reached the hotel all too soon. Lady Frederica was looking out for them and the introduction was made. She was civil, but by no means cordial, and conveyed an accent of disapproval into her polite surprise at seeing Mr. Chichester so far from town.
Sydney explained eagerly, but Lady Frederica’s “Indeed!” was discouraging, and there was a pause. Hugh felt he was expected to take his leave, and took it.
“Good-bye, Sydney, I’m—awfully glad to have seen you.”
“Good-bye! Good-bye, Hugh—my love to them at home, a great deal of love, you know, Hugh. Good-bye!”
Oh, dear! how much there was that Sydney wanted to say to him! If only Lady Frederica would have left them for a little time alone! If only Sir Algernon had not been there when they met! She wanted—oh, so much!—to hear the little things that letters never tell; those little items of everyday home news for which she felt so sick with longing suddenly. Why hadn’t she asked this, that, and the other? She seemed to have said nothing but good-bye. She was very quiet upon the homeward drive, so quiet that Sir Algernon looked curiously at her more than once. And when they reached the castle, and the girl had gone up to the school-room, he went into the library to St. Quentin.
“Got any views for that little girl, Quin?” he asked carelessly, when he had answered his host’s inquiries as to the conditions of the roads, the “pace of the greys,” and other details of their day.
“Possibly, but none that I need your advice upon, thanks,” was the answer.
“Don’t get riled, old man, I wasn’t offering it.” Sir Algernon lit a cigarette with great care and sat down by the fire. “It strikes me that she has views of her own, as well,” he concluded.
“Suppose we leave Sydney out of the conversation, altogether!” said St. Quentin.
“Oh, just as you please, of course. Do you want the people who brought her up—the Chichesters—to be a tabooed subject as well?”