"'Invited' is scarcely the correct word; instructions have been issued that the whole staff is to attend. That rather looks as if he may have left something, possibly some trifle, to everyone who was actually in his employ at the time of his death."
"I see. That explains why you want to be present at the funeral. And afterwards, when the will has been read, will you--dine with us? Papa wants me to dine, I think, at the Savoy, to what he calls 'celebrate' our engagement."
"You may be sure I'll come if I can."
"'If'! It's again 'if.' Is it to be all 'ifs '?"
"My dearest Stella, what do you mean?"
"It doesn't matter. Shall we go to the drawing-room? I think we shall find that the Miss Claughtons and papa are waiting for us there."
The young lady turned as if to leave the room. He caught her by the arm.
"Stella, is it possible, is it conceivable, that you can imagine that what has happened is in the least degree, in any sense my fault? Can you suppose that I would not ten thousand times rather spend every hour of every day with you than do what I have done, what I may still have to do?--that my heart, my thoughts, are not with you every instant I have to spend in that confounded City?"
"Rodney, I am very anxious to believe that there are sufficient reasons which compel you to spend all the time you seem to spend in the City; but you don't manage to make it very clear what they are."
"Stella! Stella! How can you talk like that? What shall I say? What can I do?"