CHAPTER XIII
CERTAIN days become retrospectively memorable, and that however apparently uneventful they may have seemed at the time.
To Laura Pavely the 6th of January opened as had done all the other days during the last few weeks, that is, quietly, dully, and sadly.
There was one difference, trifling or not as one happened to look at the matter. Godfrey was away in London. He had been absent for over a week—since the 28th, and though he had been expected back last night, there had come a telephone message, late in the afternoon, to say that his business would keep him away a day longer.
This morning—it was a Friday morning—Laura, trying hard to shake off her depression, told herself that she and Alice might as well go for a ride. It was a beautiful day, and the wind blew soft. They would go across the downs to a certain lonely spot which Alice loved.
Laura was already in the hall in her riding habit, waiting for the child, when there came a telephone message through from Pewsbury. It was from the Bank asking what time Mr. Pavely would be there. A gentleman with whom he had made an appointment for ten o'clock, had been waiting for him since that hour. It was now nearly eleven.
Laura turned to the servant: "Did Mr. Pavely give you any message to send on to the Bank?" she asked.
The man answered, "No, ma'am, not that I understood. Mr. Pavely didn't come himself to the telephone."
"What was the message exactly?" Laura was always kind and courteous in her manner to her servants, and they were all attached to her.