"No, miss."
"Did she go out with father?"
"No, miss--your father went out a quarter of an hour earlier."
Gladys coughed. "Please, miss, Cook and me's wanting to go out and see the Procession."
"Oh, of course you must. But that won't be until half-past nine. They come past here, you know."
"Yes, miss."
Joan picked up the new number of the Cornhill Magazine and tried to settle down. But she was restless. Her own happiness made her so. And then the house was "queer." It had the sense of itself waiting for some effort, and holding its breath in expectation.
As Joan sat there trying to read the Cornhill serial, and most sadly failing, it seemed to her stranger and stranger that her mother was not in. She had not been well lately; Joan had noticed how white she had looked; she had always a "headache" when you asked her how she was. Joan had fancied that she had never been the same since Falk had been away. She had a letter in her dress now from Falk. She took it out and read it over again. As to himself it had only good news; he was well and happy, Annie was "splendid." His work went on finely. His only sadness was his breach with his father; again and again he broke out about this, and begged, implored Joan to do something. If she did not, he said, he would soon come down himself and risk a row. There was one sentence towards the end of the letter which read oddly to Joan just now. "I suppose the old man's in his proper element over all the Jubilee celebrations. I can see him strutting up and down the Cathedral as though he owned every stone in it, bless his old heart! I tell you, Joan, I just ache to see him. I do really. Annie's father hasn't been near us since we came up here. Funny! I'd have thought he'd have bothered me long before this. I'm ready for him if he comes. By the way, if mother shows any signs of wanting to come up to town just now, do your best to prevent her. Father needs her, and it's her place to look after him. I've special reasons for saying this...."
What a funny thing for Falk to say! and the only allusion to his mother in the whole of the letter.
Joan smiled to herself as she read it. What did Falk think her power was? Why, her mother and father had never listened to her for a single moment, nor had he, Falk, when he had been at home. She had never counted at all-- to any one save Johnny. She put down the letter and tried to lose herself in the happy country of her own love, but she could not. Her honesty prevented her; its silence was now oppressive and heavy-weighted. Where could her mother be? And dinner already half an hour late in that so utterly punctual house! What had Falk meant about mother going to London? Of course she would not go to London--at any rate without father. How could Falk imagine such a thing? More than an hour passed.