“This is Johnny Ludlow, grandmamma; you have heard me speak of him: I don’t know the others.”
“How do you do, sir,” said the old lady, politely nodding her brown bonnet at me. “I hope you are in good health, sir?”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you.” For she put it as a question, and seemed to await an answer. Tod and the rest, who had risen, began to sit down again.
“I’m sure I am sorry to disturb you at luncheon, ma’am,” said the old lady to Mrs. Everty. “We came in to see whether you had gone home or not. I said you of course had gone; that you wouldn’t stay away from your husband so long as this; and also because we had not heard of you for a month past. But Mabel thought you were here still.”
“I am intending to return shortly,” said Sophie.
“That’s well: for I want to send up Mabel. And I brought in a letter that came to my house this morning, addressed to you,” continued the old lady, lugging out of her pocket a small collection of articles before she found the letter. “Mabel says it is your husband’s handwriting, ma’am; if so, he must be thinking you are staying with me.”
“Thanks,” said Sophie, slipping the letter away unopened.
“Had you not better see what it says?” suggested Mrs. Golding to her.
“Not at all: it can wait. May I offer you some luncheon?”
“Much obleeged, ma’am, but I and Mabel took an early dinner before setting out. And on which day, Mrs. Everty, do you purpose going?”