"Are you cold?" inquired Lady Acorn.
"Rather. As we grow older, we feel the cold and fatigue of a journey more keenly," he added, smiling. "It is a regular April day: warm in the sun, very cold in the wind and shade."
"He is getting older," thought Lady Acorn, as she looked at his face, chilled and grey, and his whitening hair; though, for a wonder, she did not tell him so. They had not met for some months. He had paid no visit to London since the previous November, and then his errand had been the same as now—to celebrate a marriage.
And, of the events of the past autumn and winter months there is not much to relate. Oscar Dalrymple was in his own place now, Knutford, Selina with a handsome income settled on her; and Robert and his wife lived at Moat Grange. They had been married from Grosvenor Square in November, Mr. Cleveland, as again now, coming up for it. Lady Adela was still at Netherleigh Rectory. And, perhaps it was of her that the countess wanted chiefly to question the Rector. She did not, however, do that all at once.
"All quite well at home?" she asked.
"Tolerably so, thank you," he replied. "Mary, as you know, is ailing: and will be for some little time to come."
"Dear me, yes," came the quick, irritable assent. "This baby will make the third. I can't think what you want with so many."
The Rector laughed. "Mary sent her love to you; and especially to Frances: and I was to be sure to say to Frances how sorry she was not to be able to be at her wedding. Adela also sent her love."
"Ah! And how is she?"
"She——" Mr. Cleveland hesitated. "She is much the same. Tolerably well in health, I think."