She was
burning to send to him, but hardly knew how he might take the message: it
might be that he would object to leading strings, and her attempt to put
them on would ruin all. But the time went on; grew late; and she was
dying for her tea, which she had chosen should wait also. Maude sat
before the fire in a large chair; her eyes, her hands, her whole air
supremely listless.
"Don't you want tea, Maude?" suddenly cried her mother, who had cast
innumerable glances at her from time to time.
"I have wanted it for hours--as it seems to me."
"It's a horrid custom for young men, this sitting long after dinner. If
he gets into it--But you must see to that, and stop it, if ever you reign
at Hartledon. I dare say he's smoking."
"If ever I reign at Hartledon--which I am not likely to do--I'll take
care not to wait tea for any one, as you have made me wait for it this
evening," was Maude's rejoinder, spoken with apathy.
"I'll send a message to him," decided Lady Kirton, ringing rather
fiercely.
A servant appeared.
"Tell Lord Hartledon we are waiting tea for him."
"His lordship's not in, my lady."
"Not in!"
"He went out directly after dinner, as soon as he had taken coffee."
"Oh," said the countess-dowager. And she began to make the tea with
vehemence--for it did not please her to have it brought in made--and
knocked down and broke one of the delicate china cups.
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