"Not for worlds, if you mean our cousin Anthony," said Sue, with a decision that confirmed his prudence. "He has never—we have never been on any but the most formal terms with him." (An exchange of venison and pheasants once a year had indeed been their limit, and the doctor guessed as much.)
"But he will have to come, my dear lady; and for the sake of appearances——"
"Not yet. Oh, not yet."
("Aye, it will be a bitter pill to you, poor thing, and to all of you, to have to bundle out neck and crop," inwardly cogitated the doctor)—and as he hesitated what further counsel to offer, she made her own suggestion.
"Paul would come to us, I know. He only left this morning. Oh, how little we thought when he left—but Maud knows where he is."
"Let him be sent for, then. The telegraph-office will be shut, but I daresay I could get them to open it if I went myself. Is Major Foster in London? If he is in the country, we shall have to wait till morning, I doubt."
Maud however testified that Paul was in London, and the telegram was sent.
And next day ensued a scene familiar, alas! to many. Scared looks, noiseless footsteps, muffled whispers—strangeness, dreariness, everywhere. And there were questions that could not be asked, and anxious thoughts that must not appear,—and with the future knocking at the door, the present must be all-in-all.
The present, however, with its multifarious demands, brought the relief of occupation to every member of the family except Leonore.
She was indeed willing, more than willing to do her part; but the elder three had been so long habituated to thinking of her as a childish, inconsequent creature, not yet out of leading strings, that each severally rejected her overtures, and she could only wander aimlessly from room to room, and gaze from the windows—from one window in particular.