He grinned at her. “I’ll not tell you. You would be ready to eat me!”
“Hateful boy! What was it?”
“No, it would make you blush.”
“Oh!” she gasped indignantly. “Odious!”
“Well, I don’t know what else I could have told him!”
“Well, never mind!” She sank her voice to an even lower note and pointed toward Francis Cheviot’s door. “He cannot have slept through such a noise! Why has he not come out or called to us to know what is the matter?”
“Hiding under his bed belike,” responded Nicky caustically,
“He is bound to remark upon it!”
“I’ll fob him off,” Nicky promised.
In spite of this assurance, it was in the expectation of suffering a considerable degree of embarrassment that the widow descended presently to the breakfast parlor. But her uninvited guest put in no appearance, and Barrow explained with a sniff of disapproval that Crawley had carried up a tray to his bedchamber. Mr. Cheviot, had said Crawley loftily, never left his room until noon.