Then it was arranged that Lumsden should return to England alone, and see Mrs. Bladon. He felt he could not spare so long a holiday abroad, and now that his journey had not been in vain he found himself once more in foggy London, light of heart, cheerful, and cool as ever.
The lamps were lit when he was shown into the drawing-room where Mrs. Bladon was busy at her writing-table, and he noticed with some inward mirth that there was a distinct increase of cordiality in Mrs. Bladon's manner.
"LUMSDEN NOTICED WITH INWARD MIRTH AN INCREASED CORDIALITY IN MRS. BLADON'S MANNER."
"You're quite a stranger, Mr. Lumsden," she began; "surely you've been out of town. Wise man! If I could only leave these terrible fogs and bitter winds!"
"Yes, Italy now is delightful."
Mrs. Bladon smiled unconsciously.
"Delicious, so Nancy says. Dear child, this trip is doing her a world of good. She writes such bright, happy letters; and indeed—you are an old friend of hers, Mr. Lumsden, and there is no harm in telling you—I think, from what Lady Forsyth has told me, that our dear child has found her fate. I know nothing definite, but one can read between the lines."
"Quite so," said Lumsden, with praiseworthy gravity, "Miss Nancy is looking very blooming, I assure you, and we have had a delightful trip. I found that a short holiday was quite necessary for my health, and, oddly enough, I just hit off the Orotava at Gibraltar. That overland service is very useful. So I thought I would come in and let you know how Nancy was."
There was a moment's tense silence, during which they looked at each other steadily, Lumsden with a touch of cold mirth twinkling in his handsome eyes.