Miss Rose was kind-hearted enough not to look at him, and his mother was without her specs; so neither noticed the hot flush that arose to his face.
"How should I know? Am I Miss Nettleby's confidant? Was Nathalie in the school-room to-day, Miss Rose?"
"No."
"It was too hot, I suppose. This intense closeness can only end in a thunder-storm."
"I fancy we will have it shortly. The sky looks fearful; it has turned perfectly livid."
The meal ended, Charley walked to the window overlooking the wide sea, and stood blankly gazing out. It was nearly seven—time he was off to Redmon; and yet, with love and Cherrie beckoning him on, he was hesitating. When should he stand here again—in this pleasant home where he had spent so many happy years? When, indeed? He was going to his fate, as we all go, blindly; and there was no foreshadowing dread to whisper to him—stand back.
The clock struck seven. It was possible to linger no longer. He went over to where his mother sat, and bent over her. Miss Rose in the next room was practicing.
"Mother!" Charley said, trying to laugh, and speaking very fast, "I have not been a very good boy lately, but I am going to turn over a new leaf from to-day. You can forgive the past, mother dear, can you not, if I promise better for the future?"
Mrs. Marsh looked up at him rather surprised, but still peevish.
"I am glad to hear it, I am sure. You have been acting disgracefully of late, just as if you wanted to break my heart."