Harry had said he would be absent “two or three days,” so when a week had gone and he neither wrote nor returned, his father began to wonder what he was doing. He sought Lady Harriet.
“What’s Harry about in London?” he inquired. “He seems in no hurry to come back.”
“I thought he would have been home before now. I hope there are no complications about his money,” she replied.
Mr. Fenton fidgeted about.
“I wish there were no complications about anything else,” said he, stopping in front of her. “I wasn’t such a fool as he is at his age.”
“What has he been doing?” she asked, a twinge of misgiving flying through her mind.
“What has he been doing? Really, Harriet, you are not brilliant! Here have we been at our wits’ end because of that girl of Lewis’, and you ask me, what has he been doing? Heavens!”
“But there is nothing new, is there? Nothing we don’t know?”
“He came to me about it again.”