Mr. Pryor dismissed the carriage when it set them down at a pretty little inn, and he took Nan by the hand and led her into the parlour, and asked the landlord for a private room; and there he and Nan and Phoebe had dinner together.
It was a simple dinner—the very simplest possible—and Sophia Maria sat on Nan’s lap while she ate, and Mr. Pryor talked very little, and when he did it was in a grave voice.
Phoebe looked somewhat awed; and as to Nan, the sense of grief and bewilderment grew greater each moment.
“Now, Phoebe,” said Mr. Pryor when the meal was over, “I want our little party to divide. There are four of us, for of course I consider Sophia Maria quite one of the family.”
“Oh, she is quite, the darling!” said Nan.
“Will you take charge of her for a little, Phoebe,” said Mr. Pryor, “while Nan and I go for a walk?”
“Oh, must we?” said Nan, looking full at him.
He smiled very gravely at her.
“We will not be long,” he said. “There are a few things your mother has asked me to say to you. I would rather say them to you alone, without even Sophia Maria listening.”
Then Nan’s little white face lit up.