Wingrave regarded his secretary as one might look at a person who has suddenly taken leave of his senses.
“I am sorry,” he said, “to interfere with your engagements, but it is necessary that we should both leave by the seven o’clock train tomorrow morning.”
Aynesworth reflected for a moment.
“If I can see the child first,” he said, “I will come. If not, I will follow you at midday.”
“In the latter case,” Wingrave remarked, “pray do not trouble to follow me unless your own affairs take you to London. Our connection will have ended.”
“You mean this?” Aynesworth asked.
“It is my custom,” Wingrave answered, “to mean what I say.”
Aynesworth set his alarm that night for half-past five. It seemed to him that his future would largely depend upon how soundly the child slept.