“N-no, not exactly. It is only that—you see, I made my mother promise to tell me precisely how the children were,” she replied, sure of the elder lady’s sympathy, “and she says Bonny has a cold and rather a suspicious cough; and baby is not looking quite well either. Whooping-cough is about, and the doctor says he cannot be quite sure as to Bonny till Thursday. I had already spoken of Thursday to mamma, and she says she is so glad I shall be back by then.”
“I quite understand,” said Mrs Headfort, “and sorry as we shall be to lose you, my dear Evelyn, I agree with you that you should be on the spot. When my children were young I never left them if they were the least ill, not even to my mother’s care. And it was thanks to that, I do believe, that they all grew up so strong, even Geoff,” with a moment’s pathetic forgetfulness, instantly followed by a deep sigh. “Yes,” she continued, pulling herself together with the self-control habitual to her, “there is nothing like a mother’s watchfulness.”
“I felt sure you would understand,” said Evelyn, “So I will decide for Thursday.”
“Thursday,” repeated a voice beside her; “you are speaking of your journey, Mrs Headfort, are you not?” It was Bernard Gresham, who had overheard her last words.
“I can manage Thursday, I feel sure, so you may feel quite happy about Mrs Marmaduke,” he went on, turning to Mrs Headfort the elder.
His words awoke no responsive smile on Evelyn’s face, and but a faint one on that of his hostess, who, truth to tell, was somewhat too “old-fashioned” in her notions, altogether to approve of this masculine chaperonage for Duke Headfort’s charming and girlish wife. And Evelyn rose still some degrees higher in her estimation from her slack eagerness to avail herself of the young man’s proposal.
“To be so pretty and attractive, and yet so very discreet, is really greatly to her credit,” thought the old lady.
Another member of the group had noticed young Mrs Headfort’s hesitation—noticed and thoroughly understood it, in a way which would have greatly astonished her.
“What’s that you’re saying, Bernard?” said his cousin, stepping forward. “Going on Thursday? What about the big shoot that day? They’re counting on you. The squire won’t be pleased, will he, Mrs Headfort?”
“Indeed, no,” said their hostess, quickly, “very much the reverse, I am afraid.” Her husband was not present.