“Are you awake? Can I come in?” demanded Peregrine’s voice.
She gave permission, wondering what disaster had befallen him. He came in carrying a branch of candles, which he set down on the table beside her bed to the imminent danger of the rose-silk curtains. He was dressed for an evening party, in satin knee-breeches, and a velvet coat, and he seemed to be suffering from suppressed excitement. Judith looked anxiously up at him. “Is anything wrong, Perry?” she asked.
“Wrong? No, how should it be? You weren’t asleep, were you? I didn’t think you had been asleep yet. It is quite early, you know.”
“Well, I am not asleep now,” she said, smiling. “Do move the candles a little, my dear! You will have me burned in my bed.”
He complied with this request, and sat himself down on the edge of the bed, hugging one knee. Judith waited patiently for him to tell her why he had come, but he seemed to have fallen into a pleasant sort of dream, and sat staring at the candle flames as though he saw a picture in them.
“Perry, have you or have you not something you wish to tell me?” demanded his sister between amusement and exasperation.
He brought his gaze round to dwell on her face. “Eh? Oh no, nothing in particular. Do you know Lady Fairford, Ju?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I do. Ought I to?”
“No—that is—I believe—I am nearly sure she is going to call on you.”
“I am very much obliged to her. Shall I like her?”