‘Ah! Had he arrived when you left?’
‘No.’
‘And how was my future sister-in-law?’
‘She said she was all right,’ was the gruff reply, as Otho fixed his eyes for a moment upon Gilbert, a little defiantly, one might almost have said. Nothing more was said about any of these topics—Balder Hall, or Michael, or Magdalen. When dinner was over, and they had gone back to the library, Gilbert settled his father with the greatest care, arranging with his own hands his easy-chair, small table, reading-lamp, and all his other requisites.
‘You won’t mind my leaving you for an hour or two?’ he asked.
‘Not at all, Gilbert. You want some air and exercise. Go and get it.’
‘Would you like me to ask the doctor to call in?’
‘No, no,’ was the somewhat testy reply. ‘I see him often enough, without you asking him to come.’
‘Michael is sure to look in on his way home, but I shall most likely be back by then.—Now, Otho, if you’re ready.’
As they stepped out of the house, they became aware that a change had fallen over the weather, which had been cold. The sky was full of rack, driven rapidly across it by a strong yet soft south-west wind. The moon gleamed fitfully through the clouds, and a gush of rain was blown against their faces.