"Have you written? The post-bag leaves in half an hour," he addressed her.
"We are expected, but I will write," she replied: and her not having yet written counted in his favour.
She went to write the letter. Dr. Corney had departed on his mission to fetch Crossjay and medicine. Lady Busshe was impatient to be gone. "Corney," she said to Lady Culmer, "is a deadly gossip."
"Inveterate," was the answer.
"My poor horses!"
"Not the young pair of bays?"
"Luckily they are, my dear. And don't let me hear of dining to-night!"
Sir Willoughby was leading out Mr. Dale to a quiet room, contiguous to the invalid gentleman's bedchamber. He resigned him to Laetitia in the hall, that he might have the pleasure of conducting the ladies to their carriage.
"As little agitation as possible. Corney will soon be back," he said, bitterly admiring the graceful subservience of Laetitia's figure to her father's weight on her arm.
He had won a desperate battle, but what had he won?