“And you waited all this time before you told me!” he exclaimed.
Aunt Philomela raised her eyebrows.
“She is hardly ready at this moment to see you,” she observed haughtily.
“I know but—”
Barnes did not finish. What he was going to say was that by delaying the news she had deprived him by just so much of anticipation. On second thought he realized that this would probably not make her feel so badly as it did him.
“Very well, Aunt Philomela,” he returned with dignity, “kindly convey my compliments to your niece and tell her I shall be pleased to pay my respects at any time she may suggest.”
“Which means I suppose that you’ll come up at about eleven.”
“At about eleven,” he agreed.
It took the tall clock in the library almost a day to compass the arc between eight and eleven but it was finally accomplished. Before the clock had ceased striking Barnes was on his way upstairs. He was met at the door by Aunt Philomela who escorted him to her sitting-room where Eleanor lay upon a couch looking not one whit worse for her adventure. The color in her cheeks was even deeper if anything; her eyes full and lustrous, if a bit startled; and her hand-clasp firm.
“It seems silly to lie here,” she smiled, “but between Aunt Philomela and Dr. Merriweather, what can one do?”