“Mr. Wilding!” cried Diana, her companion.
Wilding doffed his hat and bowed, Trenchard following his example.
“We had scarce looked to see you in Bridgwater again,” said the mother, her mild, pleasant countenance reflecting the satisfaction it gave her to behold him safe and sound.
“There have been moments,” answered Wilding, “when myself I scarce expected to return. Your ladyship's greeting shows me what I had lost had I not done so.”
“You are but newly arrived?” quoth Diana, scanning him in the gloaming.
“From London, an hour since.”
“An hour?” she echoed, and observed that he was still booted and dust-stained. “You will have been to Lupton House?”
A shadow crossed his face, his glance seemed to grow clouded, all of which watchful Diana did not fail to observe. “Not yet,” said he.
“You are a laggard,” she laughed at him, and he felt the blood driven back upon his heart. What did she mean? Was it possible she suggested that he should be welcome, that his wife's feelings towards him had undergone a change? His last parting from her on the road near Walford had been ever in his mind.
“I have had weighty business to transact, he replied, and Trenchard snorted, his mind flying back to the council-room at the Castle, and what his friend had told him.