"In the afternoon; after lunch."
"Well, I shall be in London by that time, nurse; so there is no danger of my incurring my stepfather's wrath this time by an encounter with the heiress."
There was a momentary touch of bitterness in George's voice, but his slow sad smile contradicted it.
"Ah, George!" said the old woman. "Take heart. All will be well, and the time will come when you will be welcome here."
"Perhaps so, nurse. In the mean time, you will let me know what news Miss Carruthers brings, and especially where my mother is, and their next move."
That night George Dallas slept for the first time under the roof of the old house at Poynings; but an early hour in the morning found him on his way back to town.
When Clare Carruthers, mounted on Sir Lancelot and escorted by Cæsar, arrived at Poynings on the following afternoon, she was surprised to find Mrs. Brookes looking well and cheerful. The girl had brought good news. Mrs. Carruthers had borne the journey well, and it was proposed that she should leave Paris and proceed to the south of France after the interval of a week. Clare roamed over the house and gardens as usual. She was beautiful as ever, but with a new and graver beauty than of old. There was no observant eye to mark the change, no kindred spirit to note and share the girl's trouble. She was quite alone. When she returned from her ramble, and while her horse was being brought round, she went to Mrs. Brookes's room to bid her good-bye. The old woman took two letters out of her desk, and said: "Do you remember these letters, Miss Carruthers? You brought them to me when Mrs. Carruthers was first taken ill."
"Yes, I remember. What of them?" Clare answered, carelessly.
"Will you have the kindness to enclose them in a large envelope, and direct them to Mr. George Dallas for me?"
"Certainly," said Clare; but she looked a little surprised, for Mrs. Brookes wrote remarkably well for a person of her class.