"To-morrow; promise you'll come to-morrow. Antonia made me write to ask you to come to lunch, and I sent the letter to the Carlton. Will you come to lunch to-morrow?"
"No; I can't do that, but I'll look in some day. Good-bye, Nora, good-bye, my pet."
The Squire put his arms again round Nora, kissed her on her lips and brow, and left the house.
Antonia, who was trying to keep her mother quiet in the dismal dining-room, heard him slam the hall door after him, and rushed to the window to watch him down the street.
Mrs. Bernard Temple went and peeped over her daughter's shoulder.
"I am glad he has gone," she said. "It's so trying to be turned out of one's drawing-room. He's very seedy about his clothes, but he has an aristocratic walk. I suppose I may go back now, Antonia, to finish my cup of tea."
"Oh, yes, mother, all in good time. What does tea signify when you see a man broken with an awful grief of that sort? Why, he looks like a captive lion. Mother, cant you get enthusiastic on the subject? Can't you try?"
"I'm sure, my dear, I have tried, but I cannot really see that it will injure the Lorrimers for me to finish my tea. With all I am undergoing on my own account at present—but of course, Antonia, you have no sympathy for your mother."
"Oh, yes, I have when you need it, but you don't just now; you are perfectly happy. However, you must of course have your tea, and I won't worry you any more after you have sent off the telegram."
"The telegram! Oh, you erratic, perverse child; what next?"