It seemed to him that he could not get on enough speed to satisfy a certain restless excitement that urged him southward.

When he finally reached town he found news of his mother. Mrs.

Baynhurst had not written herself, but there was a letter from his half-brother.

Cuthbert Baynhurst announced that he had brought their mother home, and added that if Rupert had any business he wished to discuss it would be desirable if that business should be held over for a little while.

"I made her see a specialist in Paris, and he reported very indifferently about her. Of course she had no business to rush across the other day. If she will do these sort of stupid things, she is bound to suffer for it. She is a good bit annoyed about Miss Graniger, so I think if you don't mind it would be as well not to worry her more than you can help."

To this letter Rupert made no direct reply, but he scribbled a few words to his mother, saying that he would call on her the following day if she cared to see him.

"That will give her the opportunity of shirking me if she does not want me," he said to himself, with a faint smile.

He was obliged to give an hour or two to his secretary, and to make appointments that would occupy him nearly the whole of the next day.

But he purposely kept the afternoon free; he wanted to see Camilla.

His cab had just pulled up at Mrs. Lancing's door when it was opened, and the two children pa.s.sed out, with Caroline Graniger in attendance.

No sooner did they see Rupert Haverford than Betty and Baby ran to him and flung themselves upon him. They made quite a commotion in the streets.

Miss Graniger stood in the background, smiling faintly, yet conscious of a little awkwardness.

Mr. Haverford was so occupied with the children that he could not for the moment address a single word to her.

When his right hand was free, however, he lifted his hat and gave her a smile; then he stretched out his hand, and Caroline put hers into it.

"Do you wish to see Mrs. Lancing?" she asked. "She is at home, but not very well."

"But she will see you," Betty chimed in. "Do go and see her. Poor mummy! she is _so_ white, and her eyes look red, just like mine do when I have been crying."

"Perhaps I had better not go in," Mr. Haverford said.

But the children were urging him towards the door. Betty gave him all sorts of injunctions.

"Don't make too much noise," she said. "You mustn't jump about, or scream on the stairs. Baby _always_ screams when mummy's got a bad head."

Caroline had to come to the rescue here; behind a good firm barrier Baby felt that she might hurl recrimination on her sister with impunity. It took some time to pacify her.

"I really don't think I ought to go in," Haverford repeated earnestly.

But Caroline had unlocked the door with a latchkey.

"I think Mrs. Lancing would like to see you," she said. She spoke stiffly; she did not feel quite at her ease with him. "Shall I go up and tell her you are here?"

"Yes; go," said Betty. "Mr. Haverford will take care of us; he's a very us-a-ful man. We'll play that he's a new nurse. Come on, Babsy!"

As she pa.s.sed up the stairs Caroline said to herself--

"He did not say anything disagreeable, and he did not look very cross.

I am rather glad."

Mrs. Lancing was sitting in front of the fire leaning back in a chair; a book lay open upon her knees. It was the day following the midnight raid on the nursery.

She looked very ill, and was very languid, and utterly unlike herself.

Dennis and Caroline had combined to keep Mrs. Lancing in bed all the morning, and if Dennis could have had her way she would have called a doctor; but Camilla prohibited this.

She looked round now with a start as the door opened and Caroline reappeared.

"I hear the children speaking to some one," she said, in a nervous sort of way. "Who is it? Why have you left them? After all, I don't think I will let them go out, Caroline."

"Mr. Haverford is downstairs. I told him you were not well. I think he would like to see you."

Mrs. Lancing leaned forward suddenly. The book slipped from her knees and fell to the floor. She had turned suddenly very hot, and her face was scarlet for the moment.

"No," she said in a jerky sort of way, and then, just as quickly, she changed her mind. "Yes ... yes, I _will_ see him! He may cheer me up. I feel half dead this afternoon. I am sure I must look an object, don't I?" She stood up for an instant and peered at herself in the gla.s.s over the fireplace.

"That depends what an object is like," said Miss Graniger, with a little laugh; "you are looking very pale, but extremely interesting, and that gown is lovely."

Camilla tried to laugh.

"That is all right," she said; "are you going now? Well, don't forget what I told you, keep both the children by the hand. I--I am so nervous about them to-day."

Caroline promised to bring the children back with all safety, and then she turned to go. But Mrs. Lancing called her again.

"Oh! I very nearly forgot. Will you take this letter to the post for me? I want it sent by express messenger. Sir Samuel is leaving town to-night, and I should like him to get it before he goes. I had a letter from him this morning," said Camilla, she laughed faintly; "it was very kind of him; he saw that I was upset last night when I lost so much money at bridge, and he wrote to ask if he could be of any a.s.sistance. This is to say, 'No, thank you,' in as pretty a fashion as possible. So, you see, I want him to get it; if you don't know where the post-office is, Betty will take you there. Where are the children now, by the way?"

"Mr. Haverford is taking care of them," said Caroline.

She was conscious that Camilla was speaking very flurriedly. Indeed, it seemed to her that Mrs. Lancing had confided the contents of her letter to Sir Samuel Broxbourne almost unconsciously, as though she were glad to speak for the mere sake of speaking.

Dennis had been greatly upset that morning by something her mistress had told her, but she had not shared her trouble with Caroline as yet.

Indeed, up to the present the girl was absolutely ignorant (although she and Camilla had been drawn so closely together in the night hours) of the nature of the trouble that had evidently fallen so unexpectedly.

She found the children back on the doorstep; they parted with Rupert Haverford with reluctance.

"Say you'll be stayed till we come in," pleaded Betty.

Baby kept them waiting while she solemnly unfolded a piece of crumpled paper; from this she extracted a crushed-looking object that once had been a chocolate drop, and before Caroline could intervene she had pressed this upon Haverford. He accepted the gift with grat.i.tude, and carried it upstairs to show it with pride to Baby's mother.

"Let me tell you," said Camilla, as she gave him her hand without rising, "that that is a sign that you are in very great favour. I thought I was the only person with whom Babsy shared the things she was eating. She is so fond of eating, dear little soul. Just like me. Pull up that chair and be sociable. Do you know that it is years since I saw you? Where _have_ you been? I begin to think there is something mysterious about these journeys to the north."

It was an attempt at her usual pretty, light-hearted manner, but only an attempt.

Haverford did not pull up the chair; he stood by the fire and looked down at her. Strangely enough he felt quite at his ease with her to-day.

He had drawn off the glove that had the chocolate drop sticking to it, and Camilla noticed, not for the first time, what a fine hand he had.

Though it was brown, and had been trained to such hard work, there was a charm about it. A hand can be so significant. With a sudden shiver she remembered the flat, coa.r.s.e, cruel finger-tips of Samuel Broxbourne.

There was something inviting, something pleasant about the look of Rupert Haverford's hand.