James Wilton said little, and looked glum, principally from the pressure of money on the brain; but Mrs Wilton said a great deal, much more than she should have said, some of her speeches being particularly unfortunate, and those which followed only making matters worse. But Garstang always came to her help when Wilton’s brow was clouding over; and the lady sighed to herself when the meal was at an end.
“If Harry don’t come with us I shall stop in,” said Claud to himself; and then aloud, “Close upon two. You’d like a turn with us, Harry, fishing or shooting?”
“I? No. I’m tired with my walk, and I’ve got to do it again this evening.”
“No, you haven’t,” said Claud, sulkily; “you know you’ll be driven back.”
“Oh, yes,” said Garstang; “your uncle will not let you walk. Better come, Harry.”
“Thanks, no, sir; I’ll stop and talk to Aunt and Kate, here.”
“No, my dear; we must not tire Kate out, she’ll have to go and lie down this afternoon.”
“Oh, very well then, Aunt; I’ll stop and talk to you and Uncle.”
“Then you’ll have to come round the farms with me if you do,” growled Wilton.
“Thanks, no; I’ve walked enough through the mud for one day.”