"No, you're not. Not one tiny bit," she answered wistfully. "But you do love me, Peter?"
"Haven't I proved I love you?" said Peter; and she perceived that his feelings were hurt. "Coming back, and—and thinking only of you, and—and of never leaving you any more. Why, mother"—for in an agony of love and remorse she was clinging to him and sobbing, with her face pressed against his empty sleeve—"why, mother," Peter repeated, in softened tones, "of course I love you."
The drawing-room door was cautiously opened, and Peter's aunts came into the hall on tiptoe, followed by the canon.
"Ah, I thought so," said Lady Belstone, in the self-congratulatory tones of the successful prophet, "it has been too much for poor Mary. She has been overcome by the joy of dear Peter's return."
CHAPTER XII
"Try my salts, dear Mary," said Miss Crewys, hastening to apply the remedies which were always to be found in her black velvet reticule.
"I blame myself," said the canon, distressfully—"I blame myself. I should have insisted on breaking the news to her gently."
Lady Mary smiled upon them all. "On the contrary," she said, "I was offering, not a moment ago, to take Peter round and show him the improvements. We have been so much occupied with each other that he has not had time to look round him."
"I wish he may think them improvements, my love," said Lady Belstone.
Miss Crewys, joyously scenting battle, hastened to join forces with her sister.