Lord Grayleigh crossed the lawn, and Sibyl, feeling dissatisfied, turned away.
“He doesn’t look quite happy,” she thought; “I’m sorry he is coming to take up mother’s time. Mother promised, and it’s most ’portant, to ride with me this evening. It’s on account of poor Dan Scott it is so ’portant. Oh, I do hope she won’t forget. Perhaps Miss Winstead would come if mother can’t. I promised poor Dan a basket of apples, and also that I’d go and sit with him, and mother said he should cert’nly have the apples, and that she and I would ride over with them. He broke his arm a week ago, poor fellow! poor little Dan! I’ll go and find Miss Winstead. If mother can’t come, she must.”
Sibyl ran off in search of her governess, and Lord Grayleigh and Mrs. Ogilvie, in deep conversation, paced up and down the lawn.
“You didn’t hear by the last mail?” was Lord Grayleigh’s query.
“No, I have not heard for two mails. I cannot account for his silence.”
“He is probably up country,” was Lord Grayleigh’s answer. “I thought before cabling that I would come and inquire of you.”
“I have not heard,” replied Mrs. Ogilvie. “Of course things are all right, and Philip was never much of a correspondent. It probably means, Lord Grayleigh, that he has completed his report, and is coming back. I shall be glad, for I want him to be here some time before October, in order to see about paying the rest of the money for our new place. What do you think of Silverbel?”
“Oh, quite charming,” said Lord Grayleigh, in that kind of tone which clearly implied that he was not thinking about his answer.
“I am anxious, of course, to complete the purchase,” continued Mrs. Ogilvie.
“Indeed!” Lord Grayleigh raised his brows.