He rested his hand upon his horse and sprang into the saddle. From his great height there he looked down upon me with a dark frown and angry eyes.
“I will wish you good morning, Miss Ffolliot,” he said. “My company is evidently distasteful to you.”
I laughed at him, and laid my hand upon his horse’s bridle. “I can assure you that it isn’t,” I declared. “I was very glad to see you indeed. Please get down, you have too much an advantage of me up there.”
He got down at once, but his face had not altogether cleared.
“Look here, Miss Ffolliot,” he said, looking at me steadfastly out of his keen, grey eyes, “I do not wish to have you talk to me in that way about that young woman. I do not think it is quite fair. I suppose it is what girls call chaff, but you will kindly remember that I am too stupid, if you like, always to know when you are in earnest and when you are not, so please don’t do it. If I am with Miss Berdenstein at all please remember that it is for your sake. I hate reminding you of it, but you make me.”
“You are quite right, Mr. Deville,” I said. “Please do not think that I am not grateful. Now let me tell you the news. My father has gone away.”
“Gone away! Where? For how long?” he said, quickly.
“He has gone first to London,” I answered; “where he was going to afterwards he did not seem absolutely sure himself. He spoke of going to the sea somewhere for a vacation. We are trying to arrange for him not to come back here at all. I should like him to go straight to Eastminster.”
“It is a great relief,” he said, promptly; “it was the very best thing he could do. He did not even tell you that he was going then?”
“I had no idea of it. He went quite suddenly while I was out. We had a letter from him this morning. I wonder—what she will say?”