“For one thing,” she said, “it would not be fit for you to go with Kelpie, and there is no horse roughed except the one that has gone in the brougham; and I have a sort of feeling that there may be a telegram from Mr Miller as there was no letter. It is possible we may go up to town almost at once.”
But no telegram came.
The next morning, however, brought a letter from Mr Miller in which he decidedly seconded Lady Mildred’s proposal to spend Christmas in town. If she could manage to do so, he said, it would be in every way more satisfactory than his coming down to Silverthorns. For the business he wanted to see her about, was not anything that could be settled at once. He should hope to have several long talks with her.
“Tiresome man,” said Lady Mildred; “why can’t he speak out and say what it is. Claudia, I shall not feel comfortable now till I have seen him. I shall have a telegram this morning to say if I can get the rooms I want—my own house, you know, Claudia, has been let since Mr Osbert’s death—and it so, I shall decide to go up to-morrow. You must send a note to your Miss Lloyd to say you will be away till after Christmas.”
“Very well, Aunt Mildred,” Claudia replied.
Lady Mildred glanced at her sharply.
“What is the matter, child?” she said. “Are you vexed at having to miss a week or ten days of these precious lessons? Any other girl would like the idea of a visit to town, even in winter. I will take you about, as much as I can.”
“I do like it, indeed, aunt,” said Claudia earnestly; “and for some things I am really not sorry to miss this last little bit at Miss Lloyd’s.”
“You are ahead of all the Wortherham misses, I suppose, and afraid of hurting their feelings, or something of that sort, I suppose,” said Lady Mildred, with a sort of half-grudging admiration. “My dear Claudia, you are your father’s own daughter—Quixotic is no word for you. You won’t find that kind of thing answer in the world, I assure you.”
But Claudia laughed brightly.