“All that is past now—for ever.”
Mrs Glaire did not speak for a few moments, but stood holding her niece’s hand, looking straight away from her into vacancy, while from above there floated slowly down and entered the room the penetrating fumes of the cigar Dick was smoking in his bedroom, as with his heels upon the table, and a glass of spirits and water by his side, he amused himself by reading a French novel, growling every now and then as he came across some idiom or local phrase which he could not make out, and apparently quite oblivious of the fact that three women were making themselves wretched on his behalf.
Suddenly a low whistle was heard, and Mrs Glaire started.
“What was that?” she exclaimed.
Eve made no reply, but the two women remained listening, while it seemed to them that the sound had also been heard by Dick, who apparently crossed the room, and opened his window.
“He has gone to see what it means,” said Mrs Glaire in a whisper. “I hope the strike people are not out.”
Her head was running upon certain proceedings that had taken place many years before, during her husband’s lifetime, when they had literally been besieged; but her alarm was unnecessary, for had she been in her son’s bedroom, she would have seen that worthy open his window and utter a low cough, with the result that Sim Slee threw up a note attached to a stone, which the young man glanced at, and then said, “All right; no answer,” and Slee went quickly off.
Richard opened the note, glanced through it, and read passages half aloud.
“H’m, h’m. So sorry to leave you as I did.—Heart very sore.—Oughtn’t to meet like that any more.—Pray let her tell father.—They would soon agree if all known.—Will not come any more to be deceitful.”
“Won’t you, my dear?” said Dick, aloud. “We’ll see about that. I think I can turn you round my finger now, Miss Daisy. If not I’m very much mistaken. But we’ll see.”