"Commands?" said Mrs. Purcell, absently. "Commands, my dear?"
She would not make the mistake of appearing to understand too soon; if bothered, poor Val was so apt to tire of a subject, and turn rusty on its reiteration.
"I thought I might as well see what turns up," rejoined he, vaguely, "take the dogs for a run, you know; and as it's a nice morning, perhaps, I may meet people. I have made myself decent"—and he looked down complacently, and advanced within her line of vision.
"A new suit, Val? Turn round, and let me see you. Hum—quite nice. Are you going to the post-office? I have run out of stamps."
"I was going the other way, but—oh, I'll get them;" Val brightened. "I'll get them at Sutley" (Sutley was the Bolderos' village)—"and if any of those girls are about, I'll—I'll see what turns up."
"I shall know where you are if you don't come back for luncheon, then."
Now, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, an expedition planned on such hazy outlines would have come to grief, but strange as it may seem, no sooner did Mr. Valentine Purcell, swinging along at a high rate of speed—for he always walked as though furies were at his heels—enter the main street of Sutley village, than he espied a solitary, small, black figure advancing from the other end, and almost ere he could believe his eyes, Leonore herself was smiling into them. "Why, Val?" exclaimed she, "I am so glad to see you, Val."
"Well, you might have seen me before now." Suddenly Val felt aggrieved; it was a way he had; "I'm sure I've called often enough!"—and he shook hands rather coldly; not to be won over too soon.
"I am not supposed to be at home to people at present," said Leo, simply. "They think I ought not,—but I was sorry when I heard it was you the other day."
"Were you in the house?"—demanded he.