A week had passed since Marjorie’s visit.
Hugh sent for his housekeeper, Mrs. Morrisey.
“Mrs. Morrisey, I am going to London.”
“Oh, Mr. Alston, when the men are—”
“The men are all right. I have to go to London on business.”
“Very queer and restless he’s been,” Mrs. Morrisey thought. “I never known him like it before. When I thought he was in love with that pretty little Miss Linden and wanting to marry her, he was not a bit like he is now. He kept cheerful and smiling, and now; forever on the move. No sooner does he get here than back to London he wants to go.”
“Shall you be away for long, sir?”
“I don’t know,” said Hugh. “Perhaps; perhaps not, I can’t say.”
“I see. Very good, sir. I’ll see to things, of course. And about letters, perhaps you won’t want them forwarded as you didn’t last time, and—”
“I shall want every letter forwarded, the very hour it arrives,” said Hugh quickly.