He bowed to us all, not choosing to risk a refusal of his hand by the colonel, and went quickly out of the house.
The colonel stood for some moments, which felt to me like minutes, as if he had just mounted guard at the drawing-room door. His face was perfectly expressionless. We men felt very much like stale oysters, and would rather have skipped that same portion of our inevitable existence. What the ladies felt, I do not pretend, being an old bachelor, to divine.
Adela, pale as death, fled up the stair. The only thing left for the rest of us was, to act as much as possible as if nothing were the matter, and get out of the way before the poor girl came down again. As soon as I got home, I went to my own room, and thus avoided the tete-a-tete with my host which generally closed our evenings.
The colonel went up to his daughter's room, and remained there for nearly an hour. Adela was not at the breakfast-table the next morning. Her father looked very gloomy, and Mrs. Cathcart grimly satisfied, with I told you so written on her face as plainly as I have now written it on the paper. How she came to know anything about it, I can only conjecture.
CHAPTER VIII.
WHAT NEXT?
Harry called early, and was informed that the colonel was not at home.
"Something's the matter, Mr. Armstrong," said Beeves. "Master's not at home to you to-day, he says, nor any other day till he countermands the order—that was the word, sir. I'm sure I am very sorry, sir."
"So am I," said Harry. "How's your mistress?"
"Haven't seen her to-day, sir. Emma says she's poorly. But she is down. Emma looks as if she knew something and wouldn't tell it. I'll get it out of her though, sir. We'll be having that old Wade coming about the house again, I'm afeard, sir. He's no good."