She looked across at her hostess. "I don't want to make Lord St. Amant think he ought to go too. Perhaps I can slip away quietly?"
"I'll walk back with you."
Oliver spoke with a kind of dry decision.
He got up. "Mother? I'm taking Laura home. I shan't be long. Perhaps Lord St. Amant will stay till I come back. It's quite early."
He turned to Laura, now standing by his side: "Say good-bye to them now. I'll fetch your shawl, and we'll go out through the window."
Laura obeyed, as in a dream. "Good-bye, Aunt Letty. Good-night, Lord St. Amant—I shall enjoy being at the Abbey."
She suffered herself to be kissed by the one—her hand pressed by the other. Then she turned as if in answer to an unseen signal.
Oliver was already back in the room, her Shetland shawl on his arm. He put it round her shoulders, taking care not to touch her as he did so; then he opened the long French window, and stood aside for a moment while she stepped through into the moonlight, out of doors.
They were now in the beech avenue, in a darkness that seemed the more profound because of the streaks of silvery moonlight which lay just behind them. But even so, the white shawl Laura was wearing showed dimly against the depths of shade encompassing her.