"Not any dinner, thank you. I shall be all right to-morrow, when I've slept off my fatigue."
"Well, I know I should like mine," grumbled the countess-dowager, feeling her position in the house already altered from what it had been during her former sojourn, when she assumed full authority, and ordered things as she pleased, completely ignoring the new lord.
"You can have it," said Maude.
"They won't serve it until Hartledon arrives," was the aggrieved answer. "I suppose he's walking up from the station. He always had a queer habit of doing that."
Maude lifted her eyes in slight surprise. Her solitary arrival was a matter of fact so established to herself, that it sounded strange for any one else to be in ignorance of it.
"Lord Hartledon has not come down. He is remaining in London."
The old dowager peered at Maude through her little eyes. "What's that for?"
"Business, I believe."
"Don't tell me an untruth, Maude. You have quarrelled."
"We have not quarrelled. We are perfectly good friends."