Mrs. Crichton was obliged to consider for a minute or two how long it was since “this month” had begun.
“Let me see,” she said. “What day did I come? Yesterday? no; the day before yesterday week. And this is the 14th. February began on a Wednesday, didn’t it? Oh! yes; my Bradshaw must be for this month. But this is leap year, there are generally only twenty-eight days in February—will that make any difference about when the month came in? Oh! no, of course not; it isn’t as if we were in March. What do you want a Bradshaw for, Edmond? You’re not going away; it is far too cold for travelling?”
“Tell me first where the Bradshaw is to be found,” said Mr. Guildford good naturedly; he had served a very fair apprenticeship to his sister’s peculiar arrangement of reasoning powers, and was not easily affected by their eccentricity.
“It’s up in my bedroom. No, it’s in my travelling-bag, and that is in the drawing-room—at least it was there the day after I came. Oh! no, by the bye, it is in the pocket of my largest travelling-cloak. It’s here!” and the Bradshaw was triumphantly produced.
A moment’s consultation of the intricate little volume showed Mr. Guildford’s quick eyes that there was no train for Haverstock for an hour and a half. He glanced at the “sent out” date of the telegram; then looked again at the railway guide. “No,” he said, “I could not have caught an earlier train even if I had got the message at once. I am rather glad of that.”
“Glad of what?” said Mrs. Crichton, as her brother, still looking at the guide, followed her into the drawing-room.
“That I have lost no time. It is so terribly disappointing to find that some stupid, trivial little accident has delayed one in an urgent case—a case, I mean, in which there is anything to be done,” he answered, half forgetting he was speaking to his sister and not to himself.
“I don’t know what you are talking about. An urgent case! What urgent case?” said Mrs. Crichton, pricking up her ears in hopes of a little professional gossip. It was so very rarely she could get “Edmond” to talk about his “cases” at all. “Oh! by the bye, that must be what the telegram was about. I was so afraid you would not get it at once, I put it on the mantelpiece in your study, Edmond; did you see?”
“Yes,” he said mildly. “I saw it; but on the whole, my dear Bessie, I prefer all letters being left on the hall-table, then I catch sight of them at once when I come in, you see.”
“Very well,” said Bessie, looking a little snubbed; but she soon recovered herself. “Are you really going away to-night, Edmond?” she asked.