He looked at me with a smile, but there was a weary, haggard look in his eyes that troubled me.
“Come, you must have a scrap of supper before you go,” he said; and in spite of my protest he led me into the sitting-room, where Mrs Hallett was seated by the shaded lamp reading, and the supper-cloth was laid half across the table.
“Yes,” she said, looking up, as she let fall her book; “it’s time you came, Stephen. It’s very, very, very cruel of you to leave me alone so long.”
“My dear mother,” he said tenderly, “I did not know you were by yourself. Where is Linny?” he said anxiously.
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Mrs Hallett querulously. “You are always either out or upstairs with your playthings.”
“For Heaven’s sake, mother, be just,” Hallett exclaimed, with a burst of energy, such as I had not seen in him before. “Don’t goad me at a time like this. Where, I say, where is Linny?”
“Goad you, Stephen! No, I don’t goad you,” whimpered the poor woman. “I cannot help myself; say what you will to me. You neglect me, and Linny is always running out.”
“Has Linny gone out now, mother?” exclaimed Hallett.
“Yes, yes, and I am left all alone—a poor helpless invalid.”
“Where has Linny gone, mother?”