“Very probably,” said Mr Cheviott, dryly, as he took up the letter. “Pretty girls, do you call them, Alys? One was handsome, but the other wasn’t.”
“I liked them both,” persisted Alys. “One was beautiful, and the other had a sort of noble, good look in her face, better than beauty.”
“What a physiognomist you are becoming, child!” said her brother, from the depths of Arthur’s letter. He read it quickly, and threw it aside; then he went to the window, and stood looking out for a minute or two without speaking. “Alys,” he said at last, so suddenly that Alys started, “you said just now that it was very dull here; so it is, I dare say, for no doubt the weather is horrible. You would not mind, I suppose, if I arranged to go home rather sooner than I intended?”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t mind at all,” replied Alys, looking surprised; “but, Laurence, I thought you couldn’t possibly get your business finished sooner than you said.”
“I think I might manage it,” he said. “Indeed, I fancy I am needed on the other side of the water quite as much as here. I may have to come back again before long, but that’s easily done. I’m going out now, Alys, but I shall be in by one, and if it’s at all fine this afternoon, we might pay the calls we owe, especially if we are leaving sooner. I can tell you certainly what I fix by luncheon-time.”
“Very well,” replied Alys. “I shall not be sorry to go home, and for one thing, Laurence, I should like to be at home in time for the Brocklehurst ball.”
“What a reason!” exclaimed Laurence, as he left the room. “Now that you have reminded me of it, it is almost enough to tempt me to stay away to escape it.”
At luncheon-time he returned, telling her that he had fixed to leave in two days.
“And just out of contradiction,” said Alys, “I believe it is going to be bright and fine;” for a gleam of positive sunshine, as she spoke, made its way into the room.
“All the better for our calls,” said Laurence.