“Then, once more, here goes to see my pigs. You don’t care to come, ladies?”
“No, papa, dear,” said Glynne, with the same gentle smile. “We were going home almost directly.”
“Go along, then,” said Sir John. “I shall be back before lunch. Morning, Miss Alleyne,” and he strode away. “Hope he won’t upset Glynne,” he muttered. “No, I don’t suppose he will say a word. Can’t, as Lucy Alleyne is there. Nice little girl that, by the way.”
Sir John was wrong, for his brother did say something to Glynne—a good deal, in fact. Indeed, no sooner had the baronet gone than Lucy Alleyne exclaimed,—
“And now, dear, if you won’t mind, as you have your uncle with you, I should like to run home.”
“Oh, no,” cried Glynne, “you’ll come and have lunch.”
“Not to-day, dear. Mamma will be anxious to see me back.”
“Indeed!” said Glynne, raising her eyebrows slightly.
“Yes, dear; she is a little anxious, too, about Moray; he has been working so hard lately.”
“Has he?” said Glynne, half-wonderingly, as if it seemed strange to her, in her placid existence, that people should ever work hard.