"I shall not be long," she announced, "but I want to see mother again before we start, and—and I did not know Mr. Charteris had called. You don't mind, do you?" she added, "It is rather heavy, but the stick is so tall that you can rest the handle on the seat beside you if you take your hat off, and, though ugly, it casts a cool and restful light."
So saying she re-entered the house, followed by Paul, leaving poor Digby disconsolate beneath an extensive shade; so extensive, indeed, that though noonday was approaching and the sun was high in the heavens, the quadruped also enjoyed the benefit of it, over its hind quarters, well to its middle.
"Have you been here long?" Hazel asked of her companion, as the two paused in the hall, at the foot of the stairway.
The girl's usually bright spirit was clouded for the moment. A while since all had been bustle and excitement—she had made her small plans and arrangements with much of interest and ardour—had packed her small wardrobe with a keen sense of anticipatory pleasure. There had been something of the stirring nature of the heroic in yesterday's farewells to the elongated Monday faces of her brothers; and her tender solicitude was not unmixed with youthful elation at the thought that her mother would miss her right sorely. Now, of a sudden, all this seemed changed. Without doubt or question, she did not want to go, and the vague consciousness that Paul did not wish it either, that he too would miss her, did not tend to lift the girl's despondency; for she was tender, true, and pure womanly, and, being so, knew nothing of the malicious joy of that perversity wherein so many of Eve's daughters delight.
She sank down upon the first stair, rather listlessly, and looked to Paul for his answer.
"An hour," he said, "when you appeared. But Hazel," he added commiseratingly, "you have tired yourself over all that packing. Could not one of the maids have done it?"
"I am not tired, thank you," she answered absently, "at least, I do not think I am."
Paul did not look satisfied. The girl was pale, and the small hands, usually nervous-looking and energetic, lay limp before her.
"I am sorry," she continued, "I did not know. Miles could not have known, or he would have sent us a message. You must have been very dull."
"I wanted you, of course," Paul admitted truthfully, "but I would not have had you disturbed. I ought not to have expected more of your company than the few minutes you could give me on leave-taking."