Mrs. Wylie raised her eyebrows in astonishment.
'He came yesterday,' she said, 'to get his wife; and Brenda has gone away, too, so I am all alone for a few days.'
This was artistic, and the good lady was mentally patting herself on the back as she met Hicks's glance, in which disappointment and utter amazement were struggling for mastery.
'I do not think,' continued she calmly, 'that I shall stay in town much longer. I am expecting a houseful of quiet people—waifs and strays—at Wyl's Hall at Christmas, so must really think of going home. But I will call on your mother before going. Give her my love and tell her so.'
William Hicks was not the man to make a social blunder. He rose at once, and said 'Good-morning,' with his sweetest smile. Then he bowed himself out of the room, taking the two-shilling rose with him.
Mrs. Wylie reseated herself, and withheld her sigh of relief until the door had closed. She then took up her book again, but presently closed its pages over her fingers, and lapsed into thought.
'That young man,' she reflected, 'is finding his own level. He may give trouble yet; but Brenda goes serenely on her way, quite unconscious of all these little games at cross-purposes of which she is the centre.'
The good lady's reflections continued in this vein. She leant back with that pleasant sense of comfort which was almost feline in its supple grace. Her eyes contracted at times with a vague far-off anxiety—the reflex, as it were, of the sorrows of others upon her own placid life, from which all direct emotions were weeded now.
When, at length, the sound of a bell awoke her from these day-dreams, she rose and arranged the cheery fireplace with a sudden access of energy.
'I wonder,' she murmured, without emotion, 'who is coming now.'