“Are you not well, mamma?” asked Magdalen.
“Quite well, my love,” said Mrs. Vanstone, shortly and sharply, without turning round. “Leave me a little—I only want rest.”
Magdalen went out with her father.
“Papa!” she whispered anxiously, as they descended the stairs; “you don’t think Mr. Clare will say No?”
“I can’t tell beforehand,” answered Mr. Vanstone. “I hope he will say Yes.”
“There is no reason why he should say anything else—is there?”
She put the question faintly, while he was getting his hat and stick; and he did not appear to hear her. Doubting whether she should repeat it or not, she accompanied him as far as the garden, on his way to Mr. Clare’s cottage. He stopped her on the lawn, and sent her back to the house.
“You have nothing on your head, my dear,” he said. “If you want to be in the garden, don’t forget how hot the sun is—don’t come out without your hat.”
He walked on toward the cottage.
She waited a moment, and looked after him. She missed the customary flourish of his stick; she saw his little Scotch terrier, who had run out at his heels, barking and capering about him unnoticed. He was out of spirits: he was strangely out of spirits. What did it mean?