Naturally, apart from allowing her to undertake the journey by rail, he could not sanction his lady’s humbling of herself so egregiously and unnecessarily. Shrapnel had behaved unbecomingly, and had been punished for it. He had spoken to Shrapnel, and the affair was virtually at an end. With his assistance she would see that, when less excited. Her eternal brooding over Nevil was the cause of these mental vagaries.
Lord Romfrey was for postponing the appointed discussion in the morning after breakfast. He pleaded business engagements.
“None so urgent as this of mine,” said Rosamund.
“But we have excellent news of Nevil: you have Gannet’s word for it,” he argued. “There’s really nothing to distress you.”
“My heart: I must be worthy of good news, to know happiness,” she answered. “I will say, let me go to Bevisham two, three, four days hence, if you like, but there is peace for me, and nowhere else.”
“My precious Rosamund! have you set your two eyes on it? What you are asking, is for permission to make an apology to Shrapnel!”
“That is the word.”
“That’s Nevil’s word.”
“It is a prescription to me.”
“An apology?”