“Phil!” Ermine exclaimed, but there was a mischievous look in her eyes which would have puzzled her cousin had he seen it clearly.
“You should not be prejudiced, Philip,” said Madelene gravely.
“But I am, and I can’t help it,” he retorted.
“At least you must own to some curiosity on the subject,” said Ermine. “You will come over soon?”
“Of course. I want to hear and ask scores of things,” he replied. “No, I am not curious at all, except so far as your comfort is concerned. Have you found it possible to carry out my suggestion and keep her in the schoolroom in the meantime?”
“Better still,” said Ermine, her eyes dancing unmistakably. “We have for the present relegated her to the nursery.”
She dropped her voice somewhat, and glanced round her as if anxious not to be overheard. Philip raised his eyebrows in surprise, but a look of relief overspread his countenance at the same time.
“Oh, come,” he said, “that’s almost too good to be true! What a phenomenon she must be—I am really beginning to feel curious. But I mustn’t keep you chattering here any longer. They’ll all be wondering what secrets we’ve got.”
He was true to his word. The next morning, clear, cold and frosty, saw him betimes on his way to Cheynesacre. He had taken it into his head to walk over, leaving word that he would send for his luggage in the course of the day, and in a modified degree carry out his original intention of “surprising” his grandmother, by marching in upon her at her solitary breakfast. For notwithstanding her unwonted dissipation of the night before he felt pretty confident of finding Lady Cheynes at her usual place at table at her usual hour of ten.
Nor was he disappointed. He had the satisfaction in the first place of considerably startling the “Barnes” of the Cheynesacre establishment, and leaving him aghast in the hall, walked coolly on into the dining-room.