The same evening there was a dinner-party at the Tyrrells'. Mr. Newthorpe had, as usual, kept to his own room. Annabel went thither to sit with him for a while after the visitors were gone.
He had a poem that he wished to read to her; there was generally some scrap of prose or verse waiting for her when she went into the study. To-night Annabel could not give the usual attention. Mr. Newthorpe noticed this, and, laying the book aside, made one or two inquiries about the company of the evening. She replied briefly, then, after hesitation, asked:
'Do you very much want to go to the Pilkingtons', father?'
He regarded her with amazement.
'I? Since when have I had a passionate desire to camp in strangers' houses and eat strange flesh?'
'Then you do not greatly care about it—even for the sake of meeting Mr. Lanyard?'
'Lanyard? Great Heavens! The fellow has done some fine things, but spiritual converse with him is quite enough for me.'
'Then will you please to discover all at once that you are really not so well as you thought, and that, after your season's dancing and theatre-going, you feel obliged to get hack either to Eastbourne or Ullswater as soon as possible?'
'The fact is, Bell, I haven't felt by any means up to the mark these last few days.'
'Dear father, don't say that! I am wrong to speak lightly of such things.'