"Then I think it was your duty to have first consulted me, Lady Maude," he said, feeling deeply mortified.
"Thank you," she laughed. "I have not been Lady Maude this two months."
"I beg your pardon, Lady Hartledon."
"Now don't pretend to be offended, Val. I have only saved you trouble."
"Maude," he said, rallying his good humour, "it was not right. Let us—for Heaven's sake let us begin as we mean to go on: our interests must be one, not separate. Why did you not tell me you wished to return to London, and allow me to see after an abode for us? It would have been the proper way."
"Well, the truth is, I saw you did not want to go; you kept holding back from it; and if I had spoken you would have shillyshallied over it until the season was over. Every one I know is in London now."
The waiter entered with the fresh chocolate, and retired again. Lord Hartledon was standing at the window then. His wife went up to him, and stole her hand within his arm.
"I'm sorry if I have offended you, Val. It's no great matter to have done."
"I think it was, Maude. However—don't act for yourself in future; let me know your wishes. I do not think you have expressed a wish, or half a wish, since our marriage, but I have felt a pleasure in gratifying it."
"You good old fellow! But I am given to having a will of my own, and to act independently. I'm like mamma in that. Val, we will start to-morrow: have you any orders for the servants? I can transmit them through mamma."