Lady Argent welcomed him with a glad look in which, nevertheless, he detected a slight surprise.
“Well, you two,” began Bertha in a tone of careful gaiety, “what do you think of an invitation? Kind Lady Argent wants us all three to stay here for the night. Then cook won’t have any trouble about getting supper ready for us, and we shan’t have to bother any more about squeezing into the bedrooms with all those trunks! Isn’t that splendid?”
“We shall have to go back to get our things,” said Frances quickly and solemnly.
“I’ll see to all that,” declared kind Mrs. Tregaskis briskly. “I’m going to pop over and see to one or two things, and I’ll bring back the nighties with me. I shall put on my seven-leagued boots, and be back before you know I’ve gone.”
“I’ll go back with you,” said Rosamund.
“No, my dear. It’s too far for you.” There was an underlying anxiety in Mrs. Tregaskis’ firm kindliness.
Frances looked at her sister with consternation.
“But—but——” she half-whispered, turning her back on Mrs. Tregaskis, “it’s our very last night at home. We must go back, Rosamund.”
“Bon! ça y est,” ejaculated Bertie under her breath and casting a glance of humorous despair at Lady Argent and Ludovic. “Une scène de première classe!”
He noted with angry resentment her admirable French.