“But if it be so,” I went on, “the more grounds for my trying to help if I can;” and I went down to breakfast feeling quite strung up and prepared to act upon my resolution as quickly as possible, even while realising fully that it might call for some diplomacy, as unless I saw that my motives were likely to be sympathised in by Clarence Payne, I would say and do nothing, in that direction at least.
I was met by disappointment. There was no one in the dining-room but Mrs Payne, who added to her other model qualities that of punctuality and early rising. I was, I suppose, a little late, but she greeted me most cordially.
“We have to be very regular,” she said, “as Mr Payne and my eldest son go off pointedly, though I did want Clarence to give himself a little latitude this morning after his long journey. And Felix, our baby, is due at school at nine o’clock, though he has not very far to go. And Rupert—” she was continuing, but I am afraid I cut her short.
“I am so sorry,” I said. “I could easily have hurried a little if I had known.” And I really was feeling sorry, though not from any sense of penitence, as Mrs Payne evidently supposed.
“Oh! Rupert is not down yet,” she said. “I am afraid he has got into rather lazy ways;” and she went on talking about the improvement in his health, their plans for his future, etc, without discovering that I was not giving my full attention, for my whole mind was running on the chances of a talk with Clarence, and how it was to be managed without letting him himself suspect that anything of the kind was premeditated on my part. I had not realised the difference between town and country life, between busy, and so to say, idle people. At home, or on any country visit, nothing would have been easier, but here I foresaw all sorts of difficulties, and my spirits flagged.
“You’re tired, my dear, I am afraid,” said my kind hostess, but, luckily perhaps, at that moment Rupert made his appearance. He glanced round the room, and I could not help a slight feeling of amusement at the gratification I detected in his face when he saw that his mother and I were alone.
“I may lay my account,” I thought, “to a good morning of literary confidences and aspirations, not to speak of criticism. But after all, I may turn it to some purpose. I don’t want to involve the boy in any way, but I dare say I am adroit enough to find out something from him which may help to guide me a little,” and my greeting of the young fellow was probably proportionally hearty, for his face lightened up still more, and half-way through our meal—for his mother’s breakfast was a thing of the past—he begged her to leave the care of me in his hands.
“I’m sure Miss Fitzmaurice won’t mind,” he said affably. “Will you?” he added, turning to me, to which I replied by a smile, as he expected. “Mother is fidgeting to see the housekeeper; I know her little ways so well, especially as it is Saturday, and father and Clarence, not to speak of Felix, will probably all come home to luncheon, and dinner is pretty sure to be unusually early or unusually late.”
Mrs Payne laughed, but evidently he had hit the mark, for with a word of excuse to me she left us, and Rupert busied himself with pouring out a second cup of coffee for me, and attending scrupulously to all my wants.
I saw an opening to getting a little information, and profited by it.