On the evening of Mrs. Villars' expected return, Hargrave was sitting in his study, lost in something very like a reverie, when he was roused by a low tap at his door. Hastily taking up his pen, to assume the appearance of occupation, he gave the customary answer of "Come in," and Caroline entered.
"Henry," said she, with a persuasive smile, "you must come and join our party in the drawing-room. We have a beautiful fire, and everything comfortable—so do come."
"Why to-night particularly?"
"Because we are all waiting to see mamma, and our wonderful cousin, and we want you to amuse the time away."
"Very well," said Hargrave, rising, and slowly closing his desk—putting aside a private paper or two from the table, which was covered with maps, architectural plans, ground measurements, and books.
"Really," pursued Caroline, glancing round the room, "you study too much. How very pale you look—lock up this dry room, and give me the key, you shall have it again in a day or two."
"Dry," repeated Hargrave, with a smile, taking up one paper after another, as if with peculiar affection, "dry—ah, that reminds me I have a question to ask your papa on this subject."
"Now, you tease, you shall not go to that tiresome study to-night; we want you, and you must come with me."
So saying, she passed her hand playfully through his arm, and compelled him to accompany her to the drawing-room.
The girls were all seated round a cheerful fire; but, there were two chairs left vacant, side by side. Hargrave, however, evaded this manœuvre by flinging himself, with all the coolness of accustomed indulgence, at full length upon the sofa, with his head supported by his two hands, and his eyes shut, as if in full preparation for a nap.