She found him in the morning-room lying full length on a lounge reading the "Post." He jumped up directly he saw her, led her over to the lounge, kissed her, put her down gently beside him and asked her how she was feeling.
"I didn't close my eyes all night," answered the unhappy old lady.
"Isn't that rotten?" said Alaric sympathetically. "I was a bit plungy myself—first one side and then the other." And he yawned and stretched languidly. "Hate to have one's night's rest broken," he concluded. Mrs. Chichester looked at him sadly.
"What is to be done?" she asked, despair in every note.
"We must get in forty winks during the day some time," he replied, encouragingly.
"No, no, Alaric. I mean about Margaret?"
"Oh! The imp? Nothin' that I can see. She's got it into her stubborn little head that she's had enough of us, and that's the end of it!"
"And the end of our income," summed up Mrs. Chichester, pathetically.
"Well, you were a bit rough on her, mater. Now, I come to think of it we've all been a bit rough on her—except ME. I've made her laugh once or twice—poor little soul. After all, suppose she did want to dance? What's the use of fussing? LET her, I say. LET her. Better SHE should dance and STAY, than for US to starve if she GOES."
"Don't reproach me, dear. I did my duty. How could I consent to her going? A girl of her age!"