"She now
tells me she has done so, and ordered servants up from Hartledon. By the
time this letter reaches me she says it will be in readiness."
Lord Hartledon in his astonishment could scarcely find words to reply.
"You wrote--yourself--and ordered the house to be taken?"
"Yes. You are difficult to convince, Val."
"Then I think it was your duty to have first consulted me, Lady Maude,"
he said, feeling deeply mortified.
"Thank you," she laughed. "I have not been Lady Maude this two months."
"I beg your pardon, Lady Hartledon."
"Now don't pretend to be offended, Val. I have only saved you trouble."
"Maude," he said, rallying his good humour, "it was not right. Let
us--for Heaven's sake let us begin as we mean to go on: our interests
must be _one_, not separate. Why did you not tell me you wished to return
to London, and allow me to see after an abode for us? It would have been
the proper way."
"Well, the truth is, I saw you did not want to go; you kept holding back
from it; and if I _had_ spoken you would have shillyshallied over it
until the season was over. Every one I know is in London now."
The waiter entered with the fresh chocolate, and retired again. Lord
Hartledon was standing at the window then. His wife went up to him, and
stole her hand within his arm.
"I'm sorry if I have offended you, Val. It's no great matter to have
done.
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