“No; I am about to ask Aunt to let me go up to my room now; it has been a tiring day.”
“Then good-night,” he said impressively, and he took and pressed her hand in a way which made her colour slightly, and Claud twitch one arm and double his list under the table.
“Good-night. Good-night, Claud.” She shook hands; then crossed to her uncle.
“Good-night, my dear,” he said, drawing her down to kiss her cheek. “Glad you are so much better.”
“Thank you, Uncle.—Good-night, Mr Garstang.” Her lip was quivering a little, but she smiled at him gratefully as he rose and spoke in a low affectionate way.
“Good-night, my dear child,” he said. “Let me play doctor with a bit of good advice. Make up your mind for a long night’s rest, and ask your uncle and aunt to excuse you at breakfast in the morning. You must hasten slowly to get back your strength. Good-night.”
“You’ll have to take great care of her, James,” he continued, as he returned to his seat. “Umph! Yes, I mean to,” said the host. “A very, very sweet girt,” said Garstang thoughtfully, and his face was perfectly calm as he met his stepson’s shifty glance.
Then coffee was brought in; Claud, at a hint from his lather, fetched a cigar box, and was drawn out by Garstang during the smoking to give a lull account of their sport that afternoon with the pike.
“Quite bent the gaff hook,” he was saying later on, when the grating of wheels was heard; and soon after the young men started, Mrs Wilton coming into the hall to see them off and advise them both to wrap up well about their chests.
That night John Garstang broke his host’s rules by keeping his candle burning late, while he sat thinking deeply by the bedroom fire; for he had a good deal upon his brain just then. “No,” he said at last, as he rose to wind up his watch; “she would not dare. But fore-warned is fore-armed, my man. You were never meant for a diplomat. Bah! Nor for anything else.”