Maude's cheeks had turned crimson. "Quite well," she stammered, in answer to his greeting, somewhat losing her self-possession. "When did you return home?"
"Last night. I was away two days only, instead of the four anticipated. Emily, you'll fall backwards if you don't mind."
"No, I sha'n't," said Emily. "Why did you not stay longer?"
"I found Treve away when I reached Oxford, so I came back again, and got home last night—to Nora's discomfiture."
Maude looked into his face with a questioning glance. She had quite recovered her self-possession. "Why?" she asked.
George Ryle laughed. "Nora had turned my bedroom inside out, and accused me, in her vexation, of coming back on purpose."
"Where did you sleep?" asked Emily.
"In Treve's room. Take care, Edith!"
Maude hastily drew back Edith Chattaway, who had gone too near the horse. "How is Mrs. Ryle?" asked Maude. "We heard yesterday she was not well."
"She is suffering from a cold. I have scarcely seen her. Maude," leaning down and whispering, "are things any brighter than they were?"