“Thank you,” he said. “Yes, I was bound for East Moddersham. That is to say, not exactly—but—I promised to see Lady Hebe this afternoon,” and as he looked up with the last words, Blanche caught a twinkle of fun in his eyes.
They were very nice eyes—honest grey eyes; she had not noticed them before. And after glancing at them, she turned her own away in some perplexity.
“Lady Hebe is here,” she said. “I don’t think she can be expecting you. It has been settled for some time that she was to come.”
“Ah then, perhaps you—Mrs Derwent, that is to say—will allow me to speak to her—Lady Hebe—in your garden. That will save my needing to go to East Moddersham. Sir Conway is away, and my calls on Lady Marth are never pressing.”
“He is rather queer,” thought Blanche. “I know he and Lady Hebe are very old friends, but I really don’t think she is expecting him this afternoon.”
Mr Dunstan, however, seemed quite satisfied. He spoke cheerfully to Herty, asking him if his foot pained him still, and assuring him that it would soon be all right again.
“Shall I have to have the doctor?” asked the boy. “I don’t like doctors. The old one at home made me stay in bed when it was so hot. I am sure it made me much iller.”
“Oh, our doctors here aren’t like that,” said Archie. “They’re very jolly fellows. But perhaps you won’t need one. I’ll have a look at your ankle if your sister will allow me. I’m a bit of a doctor myself.”
Blanche did not speak.
“Blanchie, don’t you hear?” said Herty, with a touch of querulousness. “It would be much nicer not to have a proper doctor.”