"Ay! That storm had consequences we little recked of," said Henry, thoughtfully fingering the letter in his hand. "To think of little Elsa! Well! Miss Ellen always said so. She was right, as usual. She is a woman of talent, is Miss Ellen, as well as being a saint on earth. But now, Claud, tell me, how have matters been arranged? I am an old stager, you see, and doubtless I don't march with the times; but this seems to me to be a very rapid business! 'Off with the old love and on with the new!' What has become of young Allonby? Has he quitted the lists, or how has he been disposed of?"
Claud put his hands over his ears with a gesture of despair.
"You may as well not waste your breath," he cried, in mock anger, "for not one word shall you get out of me on the subject of Miss Brabourne's love-affairs! I am sick of it! From morn till dewy eve do I hear of nothing else! It is my sister's one topic of conversation, and Percivale talks of it unceasingly! He has been here already once this morning pestering me to go with him to get her a necklace, or a plaything, or something! I'm hanged if I do! I have nothing to do with the matter—what's more, it doesn't interest me much! And now you come, on the top of everyone else, and gravely ask my opinion, or advice, or anything you please. Seriously, Fowler, you must excuse me; I will have nothing to say in the young lady's affairs, either to meddle or make. It is no business of mine whether she marries you, or the prime minister, or a crossing-sweeper, or anyone she chooses. I have worries enough of my own without puzzling over her the whole day long!"
"Poor fellow! Are you worried?" asked Henry, kindly, looking doubtfully at him. "You should come and live with me—I am sure the life would suit you. I have just lost my overseer—Preston—you remember him! His work would do admirably for you, young man—much better than lounging about up here in London in hot rooms, doing nothing."
"Doing nothing? I am minding the baby," said Claud, lightly, but the color flew to his fair face and he looked confused. "It is no good trying to reform me," he said, after a moment, his hot cheek against Kathleen's floss-silk curls; "I am an incorrigible idler."
"I never knew a man less idle by disposition than you are," was the answer, as Henry regarded him with a look at once wistful and disapproving.
"You're not thinking of getting married, then?" he asked, after an interval.
"Married—I? No," stammered Claud, incoherently, as he rose, set the child on the rug, and walked to the window.
There was a short, uncomfortable silence. Henry's puzzled gaze still followed the young man. At last, as if resigning the subject in hand as hopeless, he asked, abruptly:
"Where's Elsa?"