“I didn’t call him. I am going right back.”
“Nonsense, Julian, dinner is coming on the table now,” said Holly.
“It’s much too warm to ride in the middle of the day,” said Miss India, decisively. “Tell Phœbe to lay another place, Holly.” Julian hesitated and shot a questioning glance at Winthrop.
“You are quite right, Miss India,” said Winthrop. “This is no time to do twelve miles on horseback. You must command Mr. Wayne to remain. No one, I am sure, has ever dared disregard a command of yours.”
“I’ll tell Phœbe and call Uncle Ran,” said Holly. But at the door she turned and looked across the garden. “Why, here is Uncle Major! We’re going to have a regular dinner party, Auntie.”
The Major, very warm and somewhat breathless, was limping his way hurriedly around the rose-bed, his cane tapping the ground with unaccustomed force.
“Good-morning, Miss India,” he called. “Good-morning, Holly; good-morning, gentlemen. Have you heard the news?”
“Not a word of it,” cried Holly, darting to the steps and pulling him up. “Tell me quick!”
The Major paused at the top of the little flight, removed his hat, wiped his moist forehead, and looked impressively about the circle.