Oswald turned quickly and looked at Mark. It was not the accusation of Mrs. Cray that had aroused his attention--that went for nothing; but something peculiar in Mark's tone as he answered it. To Oswald's ears it spoke of evasion. He could not see his face. It was bent, and he was slapping his dusty boots with his riding-whip.
"But why DID you go into the country?" pursued Caroline. "It was half-past ten when you were here, and I warned you then it was getting time to dress. When I saw your horse brought to the door and you gallop off on him, I could not believe my eyes."
"Well, I mistook the time, that's the fact. I am very sorry for it, but it can't be helped now. Of course I should like to have attended and paid her my last respects, poor lady. Not but that I daresay there were enough without me. I was not missed."
"But you were missed," said Oswald, "and waited for too. It threw us pretty nearly half-an-hour behindhand. I should not like to keep a funeral waiting myself, Mark."
"Who was there?" asked Mark.
"The two relatives of Lady Oswald, Sir Philip and his son, Dr. Davenal and myself."
"Davenal was there, then. But of course he would be. Then he served to do duty for me and himself. And so Sir Philip came?"
"I should be surprised had he not come."
"Should you? He is a cranky sort of gentleman: an Oswald all over. You are another of them, Oswald. I wonder if you'll get cranky in your old age."
"Don't listen to him, Oswald," interposed Mrs. Cray. "He seems 'cranky' himself this morning."