He rose from the table as he spoke, Eira receiving her snub with the keenest sense of enjoyment.
“You don’t mind asking him to give our love to Madeleine, all the same, do you, papa?” she said meekly.
“I will do so if I remember,” Mr Morion replied, as he left the room, followed, as usual, by his wife.
“Francie,” said Betty, in a low voice, for Eira had had the discretion to leave her sisters alone together. “Francie, come out into the garden with me for a moment or two; I want to speak to you,” and Frances understood.
Tea was served in Mr Morion’s room, as he had ordered. But a long time passed after the ladies had finished theirs in the drawing-room, without any sign of the visitor’s departure. At last even Lady Emma began to fidget.
“I am afraid poor papa will be quite tired out,” she said. “I wish I had insisted on their coming in here to tea. Frances, Eira—no, it would scarcely do to send one of you—I think I must go myself. It is really inconsiderate of the young man.”
She was preparing to do as she said, when the door opened, and the two men came in; Horace, slightly flushed, eager, and a little embarrassed as he made his way up to Lady Emma, and shook hands with her heartily. But she scarcely noticed him, so struck and startled was she by Mr Morion’s almost indescribably strange, half-dazed manner and expression. He seemed like a man walking in a dream.
“My dear!” exclaimed his wife, “I am quite sure you are dreadfully tired. Mr Littlewood will excuse you, I have no doubt, if you go and lie down till dinner-time.”
Mr Morion started.
“Tired! I? Oh, no,” he said, “nothing of the kind! Don’t be so fanciful, Emma.”