It had been the dinner-bell. Bede did not answer to it; but that was not altogether unusual.
They sat around the brilliantly-lighted, well-appointed banquet. Where Mrs. Bede Greatorex procured her fresh hothouse flowers from daily, and at what cost, she alone knew. They were always beautiful, charming to the eye, odoriferously pleasant to the senses. At the head of the table tonight was she, wearing amber silk, her shoulders very bare, her back partially shaded by the horse's tail that drooped from her remarkable chignon. It was not a dinner-party; but Mrs. Bede was going out later, and had dressed beforehand.
The place at her left-hand was vacant--Bede's--who never took the foot of the table when his father was present. Mr. Greatorex supposed his son was detained in the office, and sent a servant to see. Judge Kene sat on the right of Mrs. Bede; he had called in, and stayed to dinner without ceremony. Clare Joliffe and Miss Channing sat on either side Mr. Greatorex. Frank was dining out. Clare was returning to France for Christmas, after her many months' stay in the country. Her chignon was more fashionable than a quartern loaf, and certainly larger, but lacking that great achievement, the tail. Annabel's quiet head presented a contrast to those two of the mode.
Bede came up. Shaking hands with Sir Thomas Kene, he passed round to his chair; his manner was restless, his thin cheeks were hectic. The judge had not seen him for some little time. Gazing at him across the table, he wondered what malady he could be suffering from, and how much more like a shadow he would be able to become--and live. Mr. Greatorex, anxiously awake to every minute glance or motion bearing on his son's health, spoke.
"Are you thinking Bede looks worse, Sir Thomas?"
"He does not look better," was the reply. "You should see a doctor and take some tonics, Bede."
"I'm all right, Judge, thank you," was Bede's answer, as he turned a whole lot of croûtons into his purée de pois--and would afterwards send it away nearly untested.
Dinner was just over when a servant whispered to Mr. Greatorex that he was wanted. Going down at once to his room he found Henry William Ollivera.
"Why did you not come up, William? Kene is there."
"I am in no fit mood for company, uncle," was the clergyman's reply. "The trouble has come at last."