“Why not?” demanded Haldane, noticing her uneasiness.
“Because I did not think it right; and I have been thinking all the evening what the vicar will say when I tell him I have been to such a place.”
Here the old lady shook her head ominously, and gave a slight groan.
“Is the place so terrible,” asked Haldane, smiling, “now you have seen it?”
“No, it is very pretty; and of course the singing is beautiful. But Mr. Santley does not approve of the theatre, and I am sorry I came.”
“Nonsense, Edith,” said young Hetherington, with a laugh. “You know you wanted to see the ‘Traviata,’ The fact is,” he continued, turning to Haldane, “my mother and my cousin are both terribly old-fashioned. My mother here is Scotch, and believes in the kirk, the whole kirk, and nothing but the kirk; and as for Edith, she is entirely, as they say in Scotland, under the minister’s ‘thoomb.’ I thought they would have enjoyed themselves, but they have been doing penance all the evening.”
Without paying attention to her cousin’s remarks, Edith was looking thoughtfully at Haldane.
“When do you return to Omberley?” she asked.
“I am not sure—in a fortnight, at the latest. I am going on to France.”
“And Mrs. Haldane will remain all that time alone?”