“Yes, my dear,” she faltered, and they descended to dine alone, Mrs Wilton on water, her husband principally on wine, and hardly a word was spoken, the head of the house being very quiet and thoughtful in the calm which followed the storm.
Just as the untasted pheasants were being taken away, after the second course, Wilton suddenly said to the footman:
“Tell Miss Kate’s maid to come here.”
Mrs Wilton looked at her husband wonderingly, but he sat crumbling his bread and sipping his claret till the quiet, grave, elderly servant appeared.
“How is your mistress?” he said.
“Very unwell, sir.”
“Think the doctor need be sent for?”
“Well, no, sir, I hardly think that. She has been very much agitated.”
“Yes, of course; poor girl,” said Wilton, quietly.
“But I think she will be better after a good night’s rest, sir.”