| "But home is home wherever it is, |
| When we're all together and nothing amiss." |
| Irish Ballad |
By this time, of course, it was quite dark. It had been quite light when auntie and Mademoiselle Lucie set off, but at Santino the darkness comes on very quickly. Poor Baby, he would have been in trouble if auntie had not come to look, for him—- that is to say if the old man and the young woman had allowed him to set off on his journey home alone. I don't think he would ever have got there, for in the dark he could not have found his way, and he certainly could never have got the shiny jugs and Minet and the money-box all home in safety!
The ladies and gentlemen who were coming to dine at the Villa had all arrived. Mother was sitting in the drawing-room talking to them, and trying her best to look as if there was nothing the matter, to prevent grandfather finding out that there was. Poor mother, it was not very easy for her, was it? Grandfather was a good deal put out, as it was, at auntie's being so late. He, too, tried not to look cross, poor old gentleman, but any one who knew him at all well could not help seeing as he moved about the room, sometimes giving a poke to the wood fire which was burning quite brightly as it was, sometimes sharply pulling open one of the window-shutters and looking out, as if he could see anything with the light inside and the dark out of doors!—any one could see that he was very much put out. He sat down now and then for a minute or two and spoke very politely—for grandfather was a very polite old gentleman—to one or other of the stranger ladies, but even to them he could not help showing what was in his mind.
"It is very strange, really most exceedingly strange, of my eldest daughter," he said, "not to be in before this. I really feel quite ashamed of it, my dear Madam."
"But you are not uneasy, I hope," said the lady, kindly. "There cannot be anything the matter with Miss Leonard?" ("Miss Leonard" was what Fritz called auntie's "stuck-up name," and "Lady Aylmer" was mother's.) "You don't feel uneasy about her?"
(This lady did not know there was anything the matter, for she was quite at the other end of the room from mother. Mother had whispered to the lady beside her, who was an old and dear friend, how frightened she was about Herr Baby, and the old lady, who was very kind and nice, was talking and smiling as much as she could to help poor mother.)
"Uneasy," said grandfather, rather sharply, and not quite so politely as he generally spoke, "oh no, of course I'm not uneasy. My daughter Helen can take care of herself. I am only very much surprised at her doing such an extraordinary thing as forgetting the hour like this."
But in his heart I fancy what the lady said did make grandfather begin to think there might be something to be uneasy about, and this made him still crosser. She was not such a sensible lady as old Mrs. Bryan in the arm-chair opposite, who chattered the more the more she saw grandfather's worried look grow worse, and the pain grew plainer on poor mother's white face.
"May," he called out at last, "I think it is nonsense waiting dinner any longer. Tell one of the children to ring and order it up at once. Why, they're not here! Why are none of the children down, May? Everything seems at sixes and sevens."
"We are not waiting for Nelly, father dear," said mother. "I don't know why dinner isn't ready yet, but I think it can't be long. I will hurry them," and she got up to ring herself.