"
"Well, I know I should like mine," grumbled the countess-dowager, feeling
her position in the house already altered from what it had been during
her former sojourn, when she assumed full authority, and ordered things
as she pleased, completely ignoring the new lord.
"You can have it," said Maude.
"They won't serve it until Hartledon arrives," was the aggrieved answer.
"I suppose he's walking up from the station. He always had a queer habit
of doing that."
Maude lifted her eyes in slight surprise. Her solitary arrival was a
matter of fact so established to herself, that it sounded strange for any
one else to be in ignorance of it.
"Lord Hartledon has not come down. He is remaining in London."
The old dowager peered at Maude through her little eyes. "What's that
for?"
"Business, I believe."
"Don't tell me an untruth, Maude. You have quarrelled."
"We have not quarrelled. We are perfectly good friends."
"And do you mean to tell me that he sent you down alone?"
"He sent the servants with me."
"Don't be insolent, Maude. You know what I mean."
"Why, mamma, I do not wish to be insolent. I can't tell you more, or
tell it differently. Lord Hartledon did not come down with me, and the
servants did."
She spoke sharply. In her tired condition the petty conversation was
wearying her; and underlying everything else in her heart, was the
mortifying consciousness that he had _not_ come down with her, chafing
her temper almost beyond repression.
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