“He’s not stopping, Miss Valencia,” answered Braxfield. “I—I don’t quite understand his movements, but he’s going, I believe, as soon as he’s seen you and Mr. Harry. He spoke of a very early morning train from Mitbourne.”
Valencia hesitated a moment: then she moved off in the direction of her father’s sick-room.
“Tell him we’ll both come down in a few minutes,” she whispered to Braxfield. “Where is he—in the morning-room?”
“No, miss—in the butler’s pantry,” answered Braxfield.
Valencia nodded and turned away, and Braxfield went back to the visitor.
“Coming in a minute or two, sir,” he answered. “Both!”
“I suppose they’ve changed,” remarked Guy unconcernedly.
“Oh, a good deal, sir,” said Braxfield. “Seven years, sir, is a long time—at their ages.”
“Let’s see,” continued Guy. “Harry’ll be—what is it?—twenty-three, and Valencia’s about twenty—nearly twenty. Um! Has my sister any love-affairs?”
“Not to my knowledge, sir,” replied Braxfield. “Miss Valencia, sir, is a young lady that hasn’t seemed to favour the society of gentlemen, so far, sir. Outdoor life, Mr. Guy, is what appeals to her, I think—gardening, games, walking, bit of rabbit-shooting, and so on. A very healthy young lady, sir. I hear them coming, sir—I’d better leave you.”