She put down her book, got up from the sofa, and came to the window.
Ambrose was still talking to the strange gentleman in the middle of the drive, and pointing to the various parts of the park, as if he were trying to tell him where Sir William had gone.
"Oh, May," she said, "it is Uncle Edward; what can he want?"
"Uncle Edward?" I repeated.
"Yes," she said, "Donald's father. Oh, I wonder why he has come! I am sure it is about Donald. What can be the matter?"
She sat down looking quite faint and ill.
"Don't be troubled about it, Evelyn dear," I said, "very likely your uncle has only come in answer to Sir William's letter. Sir William would be sure to write to him about what you told him the other night; would he not? And most probably your uncle wants to talk it over with him."
"Oh yes," she said, "that must be it; do you think I should go down and speak to Uncle Edward?"
"No," I said, "you must lie down directly; you do not look at all fit to go downstairs, and I will tell Ambrose to ask your uncle to come up here."
But before I had time to carry out my intention the door opened, and Mr. Edward Trafford came in.