Lady Mary looked at him as though she had awakened, frightened, to the consciousness of her own temerity.
"I don't quite understand myself, I think," she said, in a subdued voice. "I won't torment you any more, Timothy; I will be as calm and collected—as you wish. Only let me go."
"Will you not listen to my reason for wishing you to remain at home?" he said sternly. "It is an important one."
"I had forgotten," she said indifferently. "How can there be any business in the world half so important to me as seeing my boy once more before he sails?"
The colour of Sir Timothy's ruddy face deepened almost to purple, his grey eyes glowered sullen resentment at his wife.
"Since you desire to have your way in opposition to my wishes, go!" he thundered. "I will not hinder you further."
But his sonorous wrath was too familiar to be impressive.
Lady Mary's expression scarcely changed when Sir Timothy raised his voice. She turned, however, at the foot of the staircase, and spoke to him again.
"Let me just go and give the order for my things to be packed, Timothy, and tell Ash to go and find out about the trains, and I will return and listen to whatever you wish—I will, indeed. I could not pay proper attention to anything until I knew that was being done."
Sir Timothy did not trust himself to speak. He bowed his head, and the slender figure passed swiftly up the stairs.