Into this bracing atmosphere of cheery optimism Ludovic’s voice cut coldly and decisively:
“I can drive round that way, if you wish it.” He addressed himself directly to Rosamund. His mother looked surprised, but it was left to Bertha to exclaim:
“Only at the risk of missing the train, and I don’t want to do that—my old man is counting on my being back by the early train, and he’ll drive down to meet it, I expect. That’s no joke, when one lives three miles from the station at the top of one of our Cornish hills!”
Mrs. Tregaskis was always possessive when speaking of Cornwall.
“I’m afraid you might find it rather out of your way, Ludovic, and we haven’t left much time,” began Lady Argent apologetically.
“I don’t mind,” said Rosamund miserably, answering Ludovic’s gaze.
“Good girl!” said Mrs. Tregaskis approvingly. “Why, Francie!”
Frances had suddenly begun to cry, quietly and hopelessly.
Rosamund said “Francie!” in a tone of exasperated misery that spoke of nerves rasped to breaking point.
“Hush! Leave her to me,” commanded her guardian. “Frances, darling, what is it? Come here to me. What is the matter?”