“What! are you two still here?” she said in the gently reproving tone she used when any of them did anything not wholly normal. “Why didn’t you go to bed, Teresa dear? I told Strickland to tell you not to worry. I hope you weren’t.”
“Oh no,” she replied, “it wasn’t that. I got your message, but I’m not sleepy. What is that odd smell?”
“Just a little something the doctor used to give her some sleep,” said Susie. “I think I shall wait here until he comes down.” She had left the door open and Teresa sat tense and agonised, dreading the sound that might come again at any moment. But everything was quiet. Strickland shuffled down the back stairs and shut the kitchen door. Cyril got up and shut the door of the study and drew up another chair.
“Well, and how did your dinner go off?” Susie asked. “Did you see David?”
“Yes,” said Teresa. “He—he enjoyed himself very much in the Argentine.”
“How nice. And is he going back or is he going to take up Aldwych again? I do hope he will.”
“Yes,” she said still more nervously. “Yes—we are going to take it up together—we arranged—I hope you don’t mind. I got a little worried with Chips and everything, or I should have told you. I really came home to tell you—I——”
“My darling, I quite understand,” said Susie. “Don’t trouble to explain. I am so glad that you have come to see what a dear fellow he is. I always told you he was a great deal nicer than you thought; but you wouldn’t believe me.”
Teresa’s just feeling of indignation gave way to a second thought that she had much rather her mother supposed her not to have cared for David before, than that she should suspect her of having listened to wisdom on the subject of a prudent marriage.
“And so that is all settled!” Susie continued, warming her toes peacefully. “And when dear Evangeline is strong again we must make another effort to put that right. And then we shall have nothing left to wish for, shall we? Evan is a silly fellow, really. I wish he were here now; it might bring it home to him.”