Mrs Waldron, scenting squabbles ahead, came to the rescue.
“Tell us your adventures, Jerry. Is it a fine evening? Where is your father?”
“He’ll be in in a moment,” Jerry replied. “He went round to the stables; I think he had something to say to Sam. Yes, mamma, we had a very nice drive. It was beautiful moonlight out at Silverthorns, but coming back it clouded over.”
“Silverthorns!” Noble repeated. “Have you been out there too? Why, we’ve all been there—how funny! I thought mamma said you had gone to Gretham. I say, isn’t Silverthorns awfully pretty?”
As he said the words the door opened, and Charlotte and her father came in together. They had met in the hall. Mr Waldron answered Noble’s question, which had indeed been addressed to no one in particular.
“It is a beautiful old place,” he said. “But ‘east or west, home is best.’ I like to come in and see you all together with your mother, boys. And what a capital fire you’ve made up!” He went towards it as he spoke, Charlotte half mechanically following him. “It is chilly out of doors. Gipsy, your hands are quite cold.” He drew her close to the fire and laid one arm on her shoulder. She understood the little caress, but some undefined feeling of contradiction prevented her responding to it.
“I’m not particularly cold, papa, thank you,” she said drily.
Mrs Waldron looked up quietly at the sound of Charlotte’s voice. She knew instinctively that all was not in tune, but she also knew it would not do to draw attention to this, and she was on the point of hazarding some other remark when Jerry broke in. Jerry somehow always seemed to know what other people were feeling.
“Papa,” he said, “were you in earnest when you said there was a haunted room at Silverthorns?”
Every one pricked up his or her ears at this question.