"I am sorry too—to have to leave Italy for such a climate at this time of the year." She shuddered. "But my father has just arrived from Alexandria, and—for family reasons—wishes us to travel on with him."
Mr. Musselwhite seemed to reflect anxiously. He curled his moustaches, he plucked his whiskers, he looked about the room with wide eyes.
"How lonely it will be at the dinner-table!" he said at length. "So many have gone of late. But I hoped there was no danger of your going, Miss Denyer."
"We had no idea of it ourselves till to-day."
A long silence, during which Mr. Musselwhite's reflections grew intense.
"You are going to London?" he asked mechanically.
"Not at first. I hardly know. I think we shall be for some time with friends at Southampton."
"Indeed? How odd! I also have friends at Southampton. A son of Sir Edward Mull; he married a niece of mine."
Barbara could have cried with mortification. She muttered she knew not what. Then again came a blank in the dialogue.
"I trust we may meet again," was Mr. Musselwhite's next sentence. It cost him an effort; he reddened a little, and moved his feet about.