Lady Henrietta laughed at him, amused at his queer intonation.
"Fond?" she cried. "I adore her. The first minute I saw her, a little pale wisp in her widow's weeds, I adored her. She isn't your style at all, you puzzle. You used to admire a more lavish figure.... I can't understand it in the least; but I'm thankful. And that reminds me you must take her up to London immediately, and have her put into proper clothes."
"Oh, I say——" Barnaby was beginning. She took the words out of his mouth.
"Yes, it's your business," she said. "We can't have her going about in black; it denies your existence—! and you look like a battered scamp yourself. You'll have to go to your tailor. If you want any money I'll write you a cheque.... They won't honour yours while you're dead.... Wake her up now, and take her away to breakfast—and take care of her if you can!"
He bent down and touched her arm, and she lifted her head, still dazed, and stood up from her cramped position.
"Run away," said Lady Henrietta. "Run away, you two. I am going to wash my face."
She kissed her hand to them as they went through the door, and, in spite of herself, her lip quivered. She lay quite still for a minute, raging at herself.
"Quiet!" she muttered. "Quiet! It's nothing to die about, stupid heart!"
Downstairs the servants were all hovering, lying in wait, and watching for a glimpse of the master. Macdonald himself had drawn two arm-chairs beside a small table by the fire, and unwillingly, but discreetly, took himself off and closed the door behind him.
"Sit down," said Barnaby gently. "I'll pour out your tea. You must want it."