Stillwater took his hat and coat from the chair where he had laid them. "Then I'll tell you what it is—she won't come home until you do come after her. That's her ultimatum."
Thurston rose. "And this is mine," he answered, sternly. "My mother's house closes at twelve o'clock, and if she does not return at that time, the doors will be closed for the night."
"I'll tell her," said Stillwater, with an indescribable expression. "I warn you," pausing at the door, "you're making a very hard time for yourself. Good night."
Thurston stood motionless, thinking deeply, for some moments after Stillwater left the room. Then he rang for Jennings. The old man responded, with an anxious expression. "Jennings, Lady Canning may not return to-night," said Thurston, in a measured tone. "She will probably remain with her people. Naturally, she wants to see as much of them as possible."
"Yes, yer lordship."
"Lock up at the usual hour and go to bed. If she is not here by that time, she will not return."
"Yes, yer lordship." After he left the room, as he was crossing the hall, he heard a slow, familiar step, a soft rustle of silk, on the stairs. He looked up with a sudden throb of fear, and saw Lady Canning descending. He knew she thought his little mistress was ill in bed with a headache, and the contingency that she might come home at any moment appalled him. He hurried back to the library. "Milady, sir, milady!" he ejaculated. "She's coming down the stairs."
"Heavens," thought Thurston, "I thought she was safe for the night. Don't look so anxious, Jennings."
When Lady Canning entered, he greeted her with a bright smile, taking both her hands in his. Jennings pushed a chair up to the fire.
"Mother, this is unusual. What keeps you up at this hour?"