Miss Glanton did not seem to approve of the new distribution of her guests, and said pointedly:
"Now, Mr. Cheveril, I must introduce you to my mother's fern-house. We were just on our way there when we heard your despairing cry, Mrs. Rayner."
"Oh, come, give me at least the credit of the 'despairing cry,' as you call it," said Mrs. Fellowes. "I confess my nerves got the better of me. Mrs. Rayner stood the test better than I did. But oh, my dear, you are wet, we must see to those soaking shoes at once, they are dangerous!"
"Of course they are, Mrs. Rayner," said Miss Glanton decisively. "Here comes your husband, who will no doubt carry you off at once."
Hester felt rather like a naughty child when her husband surveyed her plight, with a more annoyed than sympathetic glance, and listened silently to the account of her misfortune.
"Of course you must go home at once, Hester, or you'll have a sharp attack of fever."
"Oh, don't be a prophet of evil, Mr. Rayner," broke in Mrs. Fellowes. "But it will be wise to go—or, we might retire. I wonder if Mrs. Glanton has one of those delightful charcoal arrangements for drying clothes?" she asked, turning to the daughter of the house.
"The mater does not possess anything so useful, I fear," replied Clarice, shaking her head.
"I shall go home! A just punishment for my behaviour," said Hester quickly, thinking there would be compensations, seeing that she would carry off her husband and Mark Cheveril. Her disappointment was therefore considerable when she perceived that she was to be bundled off alone.
"All right, Hester," said her husband. "I'll call your carriage; and look here, when you reach home, you can tell the horse-keeper to bring round my mail-phaeton for us.... You are dining with us, I think, Cheveril? I shall drive you home."