Audrey blushed painfully, and waited in dread of her mother's reply.
"I—no, dear, not then. I was rather ill when Audrey came home. I did not realise."
"I—I think we had better start now." Audrey got up from her chair, and went to the door hurriedly. She was so nervous she felt she could not bear any more. "The nicest part of the afternoon will be gone if we don't go."
Daphne sprang to her feet, but Irene rose more reluctantly. "Will you be alone while we are away?" she asked, lingering by Mrs. Carlyle's sofa. "It seems so selfish to go away and leave you. I wish I could be with you—or you with us."
Mrs. Carlyle looked up at her with shining eyes. "I would love a picnic on the moor above all things," she said. "Another summer, perhaps, if you are here, we will all go. I shall look forward to that, Irene, as eagerly as if I were a child. Perhaps Joan will be able to go too—the big baby and the little one!"
"Oh, I hope so," said Irene, her beautiful eyes glowing, "and I hope we shall be here. We want mother to take a house somewhere near, we love this part better than any—Coming, Audrey, coming!" She stooped and kissed the invalid affectionately. "Is there anything I can do for you before I go? Is the window as you like it? Do you want a book or anything handed to you?" While she spoke she was spreading the rug smooth over the invalid's feet.
"Yes, dear, please if you will pass me that book and lower the blind a little, I shall be able to read myself to sleep."
"Irene! Irene! are you coming?" a voice called up the stairs again.
"Run, dear, I must not keep you any longer. I am so comfortable now, with everything put right."
"Good-bye then for the time," said Irene, smiling back brightly as she stood at the door.