Margaret and Francis exchanged glances.
“Sir Timothy may change his mind,” the latter observed. “I have news for him directly he arrives.”
On the other side of the wall they heard the whinnying of the old mare, the sound of galloping feet from all directions.
“Here he comes!” Lady Cynthia exclaimed. “I shall go and meet him.”
Francis laid his hand upon her arm.
“Let me have a word with him first,” he begged.
She hesitated.
“You are not going to say anything—that will make him want to go away?”
“I am going to tell him something which I think will keep him at home.”
Sir Timothy came through the postern-gate, a moment or two later. He waved his hat and crossed the lawn in their direction. Francis went alone to meet him and, as he drew near, was conscious of a little shock. His host, although he held himself bravely, seemed to have aged in the night.