‘Joan!’ they both cried.
‘You must do exactly what seems good to you,’ she said, rising hastily. ‘Find out what you can, say what you like—you shall not have a word from me.’
CHAPTER VII.
A NIGHT OF MISERY.
She was gone before they could say another word, leaving them looking at each other in consternation, not knowing what to think.
For the rest of the night Mrs. Blencarrow shut herself up in her own room; she would not come downstairs, not even to dinner. The boys arrived and sought their mother in the drawing-room, wondering that she did not come to meet them, but found only their uncles there, standing before the fire like two baffled conspirators. Reginald and Bertie rushed to their mother’s room, and plunged into it, notwithstanding her maid’s exhortation to be quiet.
‘Your mamma has got a bad headache, sir.’
They were not accustomed to any régime of headaches. They burst in and found her seated in her dressing-gown over the fire.
‘Is your head so bad? Are you going to stay out?’ said Reginald, who had just learnt the slang of Eton.
‘And there’s Uncle Rex and Uncle Roger downstairs,’ said Bertie.
‘You must tell them I am not well enough to come down. You must take the head of the table and take care of them instead of me,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow.