Hal had not the smallest wish to go to Aunt Judith’s, who belonged to the old school, and disapproved in a most outspoken manner of lady-clerks of every sort and description. It was a constant grievance to her, when she set eyes on Hal,that she did not gratefully accept £20 as secretary to a well-known, interesting editor.
In consequence, Hal encountered her as little as possible, accepted gratefully her interesting, easy billet, and consigned the imaginary young children to a Hades peopled with nursery governesses.
“Awfully sweet and good and kind of you, Dicky dear,” she called back to him mockingly, “but I think I’ll practise a little self-denial this time, and stay away.”
“Odd you should say that,” he laughed, “because I consider I’m practising a little self-denial in going. What shall you do with yourself? Will Dudley be at home?”
“No; he’s going somewhere for the day, that has a nervous, apologetic sort of air about it. I didn’t press for particulars, but I’m dying to know. I can’t believe he would really take a gay young person out, and yet, judging by his manner, it might be a real flyer from Daly’s.”
“Good old Dudley!... Then I suppose you will go to Lorraine?”
“Yes, I daresay I shall. Good-bye, see you Saturday.”
Hal returned to her work in a meditative mood. She was beginning to wonder why she had not had any message from Sir Edwin all the week. Had he changed his mind, or had he possibly forgotten? If he rang her up presently what was she going to say?
The notion that he had perhaps forgotten was not pleasing; and yet, with all he must have to think about during the week, it was equally not surprising. As a matter of fact, it had been a most trying week for all Ministers.
The party was emphatically growing into disfavour, and all brains had to be utilised to find the most efficacious remedy. Sir Edwin had been very useful in his suggestions, for he had had considerable practice in getting what he wanted by artfulness if no straighter mode offered.