Ogilvie walked from the little station, which was only half a mile away. Mrs. Ogilvie, going slowly up the avenue, saw him coming to meet her. She stood under the shade of a great overhanging beech tree, and waited until he appeared.
“Well, Mildred, and how are you?” said her husband. He took her hand, and, bending forward, brushed the lightest of kisses against her cheek.
“Quite well,” she replied. “Is not the day pleasant? I am so glad about everything, Phil. But you don’t look quite the thing yourself. Have you taken cold or suffered from one of those nasty rheumatic attacks?”
“I am all right,” he answered shortly. “I have a very few moments to be here, as I want to catch the 12.30 back. Do you know if Lord Grayleigh is anywhere to be found?”
“I saw him half an hour ago. I think you will find him in the smoking-room. He is expecting you.”
“And”—Ogilvie glanced to right and left—“the child?”
“She is with the other children. Shall I send her to you?”
“Not yet.”
“It is so nice of you to go, Phil; it will do you no end of good. You will enjoy your voyage,” continued Mrs. Ogilvie, turning now and laying her hand on her husband’s arm.