Christmas came. The day after, there was a large gathering at Lady Honor’s, as there had been the year before. Captain and Mrs Whyte would not leave their own home on Christmas-day itself, as they did not like to separate from any of the little ones; but Mr Bickersteth was not satisfied without a Christmas party, so it was arranged to have it on the 26th. A good many Whytes came; all, down to the three youngest, I think. Papa and mamma and I were of the party too. Mr and Miss Gale, Anna and her two brothers from school, and two or three people staying with Lady Honor. It was a very nice party, and everything was done to make it so; but somehow it was not quite so merry as it should have been. Mrs Whyte, who was generally the life of everything, looked tired, and owned to a headache for once; Captain Whyte was very silent, and the boys and girls were rather subdued.
In the course of the evening, during some of the games, I happened to be standing near Lady Honor and Captain Whyte, and I could not avoid hearing what they said.
“Did you know, Frank,” asked Lady Honor, “that Hugo is expected back next week?”
He started.
“No, indeed,” he said. “I had no idea of it.”
“I only heard it this morning,” she went on, “in a letter from—” I did not catch the name. “He is not well—coming on sick leave, straight to—your aunt’s.”
Captain Whyte looked grave. Still there was a touch of something not altogether regret in his voice as he answered:
“I am very sorry, very—but, oh, I should be glad to see him again; and, selfishly speaking, just now—” he hesitated and glanced round. At that moment I was called for in the game, and I ran off and heard no more.
“I wonder who ‘Hugo’ is,” I thought, “and if his aunt is the Whytes’ jacket-aunt too.”