"And happen what may that be, sir?"
"That her husband is ill—but mind—not seriously."
"Oh, well, I can speak to that, sir, being as I saw the poor gentleman."
Mrs. Drayton was putting on her bonnet and shawl. The flyman had fixed the luggage on top of the cab, and was standing in the bar, whip in hand.
"A glass for the driver," said Hugh. Mrs. Drayton moved toward the counter. "No, you get into the cab, Mrs. Drayton; Mercy will serve."
Mercy went behind the counter and served the liquor in an absent manner.
"It's now ten-thirty," said Hugh, looking at his watch. "You will drive first to the convent, Westminster, and from there to St. Pancras, to catch the train at twelve."
Saying this, he walked to the door and put his head through the window of the cab. The landlady was settling herself in her seat. "Mrs. Drayton," he whispered, "you must not utter a syllable about your son when you see the lady. Mind that. You understand?"
"Well, sir, I can't say—being as I saw the gentleman—wherever's Paul?"
"Hush!"