Half an hour later, Mr. Kelvin was ushered into her sitting-room, where a comfortable little luncheon was already laid.
"I suppose you would have gone away without coming near me," said Olive, as she held out her hand, "if I had not sent you that note?"
"No, indeed," said Kelvin, pleasantly. "Why should you think such hard things of me? Rather a comfortable little place, this of yours," he added, as he looked round; "but I daresay you feel rather lonely and mopy here at times."
"Very seldom. You know that I am not one who cares for much society, and so long as I have plenty of books, I content myself tolerably well."
"When do you go back to Harley Street?"
"That all depends on the state of Sir Thomas's health. And that reminds me that I have not yet asked after my aunt."
"Oh, my mother is pretty much as usual, I think. Of course, like all of us, she does not grow younger. I believe she would be better if she didn't fidget herself so unnecessarily about me."
"My aunt does not fidget herself without cause, Matthew. You don't look at all well--hardly as well as when I saw you at Easter."
"There, there! you women are all alike," he said, a little impatiently. "Never mind my looks, but give me something to eat. I believe my drive through the crisp spring air has given me an appetite, and that's more than I've had for ever so long a time. You don't look over bright yourself, Olive," he added, as he sat down at table. "A little bit worried, perhaps--eh?"
"No; I don't know that I have anything particular to worry me."