"Did I keep you waiting, uncle?" said Margaret softly as she took her place before the urn.
"No, my love, never mind what he says. You know his ways by this time."
"Come, sit down, youngster, and don't make a fuss. Take it easy," said Mr. Casement addressing Mr. Haveloc, who was behind Margaret's chair.
Margaret ventured to cast an imploring glance at Mr. Haveloc, who regarded Mr. Casement as if he should like to reduce him to ashes; but being unprovided with any apparatus for this ceremony, he sat down beside Margaret, without making any reply.
It seemed as if Mr. Casement would never go that evening. He wrangled through one game of piquet after another; at last he got up. "Well, good night Master Grey," he said, "if you are blind-folded, I am not. Those young ones have been muttering at the window there, ever since we sat down to cards."
"What is it Claude?" asked Mr. Grey, as soon as Mr. Casement had gone.
Mr. Haveloc told him what it was. Margaret laid her head on her uncle's shoulder—he put his arm round her waist. "Well then, Claude," he said, "your best plan is to set off to-morrow morning; the sooner you go, the sooner you will come back."
Margaret looked up with a face suddenly blanched even to her lips. "What—go away—leave me, uncle?" she said. Her voice failed her; almost her breath; she had not believed it possible that they should ever be parted.
Mr. Grey explained to Margaret as he had before explained to Mr. Haveloc his reasons for insisting on this measure.
When he had finished, she burst into one of those paroxysms of tears that she only gave way to under very strong emotion. Mr. Haveloc hung over her chair in speechless distress. Mr. Grey endeavoured in the tenderest manner to moderate her agitation.