“Ermine,” she said, pausing at the door of her father’s room, “are you going to tell papa about Philip’s having been there last night?”
“No, I don’t suppose there will be any approach to the subject. If Aunt Anna has chosen to keep up the little mystification till to-morrow, it would be rather impertinent for us to interfere. And Madelene, you are not to begin blaming yourself to papa for having, as you say you did, spoken crossly to Ella last night. It will just worry him and make mischief. Just let him see, as I shall, that we were both heartily pleased for her to have the pleasure.”
Madelene sighed.
“I don’t feel—” she began.
“Oh well, if you want to do penance, apologise to Ella. She looks very meek and mild—I fancy she is in a mood of good resolutions, and for any sake don’t let Phil find us all at loggerheads.”
Chapter Twelve.
Smuts.
The interview with her father turned out satisfactorily for Madelene. Each was suffering from inward consciousness of having acted to some extent unreasonably, and each felt a kind of unexpressed relief at not being brought to task. Colonel St Quentin’s manner and tone were plainly deprecatory of blame.