“The habit suits you very well, my son—in every way,” she added, looking at him curiously.
Chris had greeted her an hour before at his arrival, so there was no ceremony of salute to be gone through now. He sat down by his father.
“You have seen Ralph, I hear,” observed Lady Torridon.
Chris did not know how much she knew, and simply assented. He had told his father everything.
“I have some news,” she went on in an unusually talkative mood, “for you both. Ralph is to marry Beatrice Atherton—the girl you saw in his rooms, Christopher.”
Sir James gave an exclamation and leant forward; and Chris tightened his lips.
“She is a friend of Mr. More’s,” went on Lady Torridon, apparently unconscious of the sensation she was making, “but that is Ralph’s business, I suppose.”
“Why did Ralph not write to me?” asked his father, with a touch of sternness.
Lady Torridon answered him by a short pregnant silence, and then went on—
“I suppose he wished me to break it to you. It will not be for two or three years. She says she cannot leave Mrs. More for the present.”