"My aunt is ill. Oh it's nothing--only a feverish cold. She hopes to be well enough to attend the ball to-morrow night."
"I did not hear of it," said Rupert, "though Tidman generally tells me the news. I have been in London for the last few days."
"So I see," said Olivia, and glanced at her fair stalwart husband in his frock coat and smart Bond street kit, "how well you look."
Rupert appreciated the compliment and taking her hands kissed both several times. Olivia bent forward and pressed a kiss on his smooth hair. Then she withdrew her hands. "We must talk sense," she said severely.
"Oh," said Rupert making a wry face, "not about your aunt?"
"Yes. I can't understand her. She has shut herself up in her room and refuses to see me. She will admit no one but Miss Pewsey."
Ainsleigh shrugged his shoulders. "What does it matter," he said, "you know Miss Wharf never liked you. You are much too handsome, my own. And that is the reason also, for Miss Pewsey's dislike."
"Oh, Miss Pewsey is more amiable," said Olivia, "indeed I never knew her to be so amiable. She is always chatting to me at such times as she can be spared from my aunt's room."
"Well, what is worrying you?"
"This exclusion from Aunt Sophia's room," said Olivia with tears of vexation in her dark eyes. "I am her only relative--or at all events I am her nearest. It seems hard that she should exclude me, and admit Miss Pewsey who is only a paid companion."