"My dear"—Mr Ffolliot spoke with evident self-restraint—"I do not care to ask my friends to meet Mr Gallup as an equal. How could you ask any lady of your own rank to go in to dinner with him? The thing is outrageous."
"I was going to send him in with Mary," Mrs Ffolliot said innocently. "We must get somebody, and I know he's in the neighbourhood, for I saw him to-day."
"If he were in Honolulu he would not be more impossible than he is at present," said the Squire irritably. "Don't discuss it any more, my dear, I beg of you. It is out of the question."
And Mr Ffolliot rose from the table and took refuge in his study.
"I'm sorry," Mrs Ffolliot sighed, "I should have liked to ask him," and then she suddenly awoke to the fact that her entire family looked perturbed and miserable to the last degree.
Grantly pushed back his chair. "May I go, mother," he said, "I've something I must say to father."
"Not now, Grantly," and Mrs Ffolliot laid a gentle detaining hand upon his arm as he passed, "not just when he's feeling annoyed—if there's anything you have to tell him let it wait—don't go and worry him now."
Grantly lifted his mother's hand off his arm very gently. "I must, mummy dear, it can't wait."
He looked rather pale but his eyes were steady, and she thought with a little thrill of pride how like his grandfather he was growing.
He went straight to the study. Mr Ffolliot was seated by the fire with Gaston Latour open in his hand.