"I suppose your mother is changing her things upstairs, Reggie?"
Reggie was sitting on the floor, with his long legs drawn up, and a tea-cup balanced somewhat precariously on his knees. His back was supported against the head of the sofa, on which Gertrude was sitting. She had put on an amazing tea-gown, of some dark, mazarine stuff, trimmed with large bunches of lace, and was feeling intensely happy and rather languid after the day in the cold air. She had just asked Reggie some question, and he did not hear, or, at any rate, did not fully take in his father's remark.
Ten minutes passed, and Mr. Davenport rose to go.
"You'd better ring the bell, Reggie," he said, "and get your mother's maid to take her some tea upstairs, or it will be getting cold. I am afraid she must have got very wet."
"I don't think mother's come in yet," said Reggie, placidly.
"Not in yet," he said quickly. "Why didn't you tell me? She must have lost her way over the High Croft."
The irrepressible satisfaction had died out of his face. He rang the bell sharply.
"Tell two men to go at once, with lanterns, over the High Croft. Mrs. Davenport must have lost her way."
Gertrude got up.
"You're not anxious about her, are you?"