“Oh, you can not forget,” returned Hugh, impatiently, “unless that baby puts everything out of your head. Do you not remember that I told you that Fitzclarence was coming down this week to arrange about our trip to Cairo.”
“No,” she replied, “you never said anything about it, Hugh;” which was the truth, for he had never taken the trouble to inform her, though Mrs. Heron had had orders to prepare a room for the expected guest.
“Well, well,” rather irritably, “I meant to tell you, but one’s memory is treacherous sometimes. He will be down here about Wednesday or Thursday, for in another week we hope to start.”
“Indeed,” returned Fay, in a tired voice, pulling off her baby’s shoe; but, to Erle’s astonishment, she manifested no emotion. As for Sir Hugh, he was relieved to find his Wee Wifie was becoming such a reasonable woman. Why, he could talk to her quite comfortably without fear of a scene.
“What will you do with yourself, dear,” he continued, briskly. “Don’t you think it would be the best thing to go down to Daintree and show your baby to Aunt Griselda?”
“Just as you like,” was the indifferent answer. But Erle interrupted her.
“How long do you mean to absent yourself from the bosom of your family, Hugh?”
“Oh, two or three months; we can not follow out the route Fitzclarence proposed under that time—about ten or eleven weeks, I should say.”
“Three months? Well, all I can say is, marriage is not the fettered state we bachelors imagine it to be. I had no idea one could get leave of absence for half that time. I hope my wife will be as accommodating as Fay.”
There was a concealed sarcasm in Erle’s careless speech that jarred upon Hugh, and he answered, angrily: