‘Father?’ repeated Mrs. Luke, touched. ‘Dear child, your poor Jocelyn has no——’
‘Mother, you and I must really have a good talk together,’ hastily interposed Jocelyn, who saw Sally’s mouth opening again. She shouldn’t say anything; she really shouldn’t say anything; the less she said the better for everybody. ‘You and I. By ourselves. This evening, when Sally——’
‘Salvatia, Jocelyn. Please, please.’
‘—— has gone up to bed.’
‘But you know, Jocelyn dear,’ said Mrs. Luke, loosening herself from his clasp and withdrawing a little, ‘that’s just what the dear child can’t go up to. Not here. Not in this tiny house. You didn’t think, of course, but there isn’t an inch of room really—not for three people. So I wanted to tell you—’ she began putting his tie straight, her eyes on it, not looking at him—‘what I’ve arranged. You’re both going to be taken in next door.’
‘Next door, Mother?’ said Jocelyn, much surprised, for he couldn’t at all recollect the next door people.
‘Well, nearly next door,’ said Mrs. Luke, diligent over his tie, and excessively annoyed to feel she was turning red. ‘At Abergeldie.’
‘Abergeldie?’ echoed Jocelyn, to whom the name was completely unfamiliar.
‘I tell you what we’ll do,’ said Mrs. Luke, as though she had suddenly had a brilliant idea, on the little maid’s appearing in the door bearing a tray that seemed twice as big as she was, and all but dropping it when she caught sight of the young lady on the chair. ‘After tea Salvatia shall go and lie down in my bedroom and rest—won’t you, Salvatia,—and you and I will have a quiet talk, dear Jocelyn—no, no, Hammond, not there; here, where I’ve put the table ready—and I’ll tell you all about—we want three cups, Hammond, not two—I’ll tell you all about——’
But she still couldn’t bring herself to mention Mr. Thorpe, and again said Abergeldie.