Where else should she have come from? He was aware that the question was ridiculous to the verge of politeness, but she replied, with all her armour of cheery friendliness unimpaired: “Yes, I’ve brought those two poor little girls, but your mother very kindly let them go out and play in the garden. So much better for them, after being shut up these last few days. I shall be very glad to get them home to-morrow; a change is the only thing.”
Her eyes, charged with kindly meanings, sought the sympathetic response of Lady Argent’s gaze.
“Of course it is. And they are too young to feel any wrench at leaving the place. It will probably be a relief to get right away from the atmosphere—and then, of course, they’ll love to be with your Hazel.”
“They’ve seen far too little of other children, and so, for the matter of that, has Hazel,” declared Bertha Tregaskis briskly. “I expect half a dozen rows royal to begin with, but the prospect doesn’t daunt me, on the whole.”
“I’m sure you’ll cope with all and any of it,” returned Lady Argent with a glance of fond admiration.
Ludovic felt sure of it too, but his sureness was untempered by either fondness or admiration.
He felt a strong desire to be matter-of-fact, almost disagreeable as far as possible, in this atmosphere of competent kindness.
“I shall go and fetch them in to tea,” he announced, reaching for his stick that was almost a crutch.
“Do, dear.”
As he went out at the French window Ludovic heard his mother murmuring wistfully: “He is so fond of children.”