Miss Hadleigh entered the room hurriedly.
‘Goodness gracious, dear, what charm have you used with papa that you have kept him so long with you? I never knew him stay so long with anybody before.’
‘The only charm used was that the subjects we had to talk about were of great interest to us both,’ Madge answered, smiling.
‘Oh, how nice.—They concerned Philip? What does he say?’
‘That we are not to pay attention to the rumours until we have definite information from Philip himself.’
‘Was that all?’ Miss Hadleigh was disappointed, and her expression of curiosity indicated that she was quite sure it was not all.
‘No,’ said Madge softly, wishful that her answer might have been more satisfactory to Miss Hadleigh.
The latter did not endeavour to conceal her surprise; but she did successfully conceal her feeling of pique that Madge should have been taken into the confidence of her father about matters of grave moment: she was sure they were so, for she had passed him on his way to the library. She had never been so honoured.
‘I suppose I must not ask you what the other subjects were, dear?’ she said, with one of her most gracious smiles. She meant: ‘You certainly ought to tell me.’
Madge was spared the necessity of making a reply; for Mr Hadleigh, instead of sending the promised packet, had brought it himself. When he appeared, his daughter was silent. That was generally the case; but on the present occasion the silence had an additional significance. She was struck by a peculiar change in his expression, his walk, and manner. As she afterwards told her betrothed, it quite took her breath away to see him coming into the room looking as mild as if there had never been a frown on his face. The dreamy, seeking look had vanished from his eyes, which were now fixed steadily on Madge.