“Very few houses are as comfortable as Squires. And I know Lady Aviolet looks forward to having Cecil there again. She told me so.”
“They think I’m coming back all right?”
“Certainly they do. I don’t think it’s ever entered their minds that you should do anything else.”
Rose laughed in a rather shame-faced manner. “Perhaps that’s as well. No one likes eating humble pie, now, do they? I’d just as soon they didn’t know I thought of not coming back at all—if I do go back, that is.”
“I think you mean ‘When I do go back,’ don’t you?” said Charlesbury with his friendly smile. “Why not let me send off a telegram for you, saying you’ll be back by the three o’clock train to-morrow? I don’t mind betting you’ll find sunshine in the country.”
“Wouldn’t that be good for Ces!” she murmured aloud wistfully. “Well, I suppose I’ll do it. One thing is, they’ll be too busy about Ford to think much about me.”
“Of course they will. A wedding is always an excitement.”
“I shouldn’t think my in-laws could ever get excited about anything, any more than a couple of old cod-fish,” said Mrs. Aviolet nonchalantly. “But it’ll be something to talk about, besides Cecil’s going to school and that everlasting old garden. I must get back now to Cecil,” she added abruptly.
Lord Charlesbury asked for his bill, and paid it, in spite of an ungracefully worded attempt from Rose to make herself responsible for her own share.
He took her to Ovington Street in a hansom, and they sent a telegram, on the way, to Lady Aviolet, to announce Rose’s return.