To go back a little.
When Mr. Falkirk came to dinner that first day, he was very taciturn and grumpy indeed until soup and fish and third course were disposed of. Then when he got a chance with Dingee out of the room, Mr. Falkirk opened his mouth for the discussion of somewhat besides grapes and peaches.
'So I understand, Miss Hazel, you have arranged with your other guardian to dispense with my services.'
Wych Hazel was not in a mood even for blushing, that day. Thoughts were too deeply and abstractedly busy, and spirits were under too great a weight, for the usual quick play of lights and colours to which Mr. Falkirk was accustomed. A faint little extra tinge was all that came with the grave answer,
'May I ask who has been talking about me, sir?'
'Your future guardian, Miss Hazel; no less. Stopped at my door last night, on horseback, to say in three minutes what would have been more fittingly talked of in three hours.'
Slowly at first, then quick and vivid, the roses stirred and flamed up in the thoughtful face, but she said nothing. Only pushed away her plate, as if peaches and that could not go on together.
'I would like to know from you whether it is a thing fixed and settled and unalterable; absolutely done? I suppose it is, or he would not have said it.'
She darted a look at him.
'Do you found suppositions upon such slight circumstantial evidence, Mr. Falkirk?'