She was not offended, for she trusted her husband too well; but she went on into the sick-room with her heart beating.
The old lady, too, seemed excited. She lay in bed with a clear flush in her white cheeks, and hardly smiled at all to the girl’s greeting.
“Well, you have seen Mr. Phillips, then?” said Mabel.
Old Mrs. Brand looked at her sharply an instant, but said nothing.
“Don’t excite yourself, mother. Oliver will be back to-night.”
The old lady drew a long breath.
“Don’t trouble about me, my dear,” she said. “I shall do very well now. He will be back to dinner, will he not?”
“If the volor is not late. Now, mother, are you ready for breakfast?”
Mabel passed an afternoon of considerable agitation. It was certain that something had happened. The secretary, who breakfasted with her in the parlour looking on to the garden, had appeared strangely excited. He had told her that he would be away the rest of the day: Mr. Oliver had given him his instructions. He had refrained from all discussion of the Eastern question, and he had given her no news of the Paris Convention; he only repeated that Mr. Oliver would be back that night. Then he had gone of in a hurry half-an-hour later.