But I thought there
would have been a telegram--from her--" Her voice dropped on a note of
disappointment.
There was a knock at the door. The butler entered, and at the same
moment the luncheon gong echoed through the house.
"Tell Miss Field not to wait luncheon for me," said Lady Dunstable
sharply. "And, Ferris, I want his lordship's things packed at once, for
London. Don't say anything to him at present, but in ten minutes' time
just manage to tell him quietly that I should like to see him here. You
understand--I don't want any fuss made. Tell Miss Field that Mrs.
Meadows is too tired to come in to luncheon, and that I will come in
presently."
The butler, who had the aspect of a don or a bishop, said "Yes, my
lady," in that dry tone which implied that for twenty years the house of
Dunstable had been built upon himself, as its rock, and he was not going
to fail it now. He vanished, with just one lightning turn of the eyes
towards the little lady in the blue linen dress; and Lady Dunstable
resumed her walk, sunk in flushed meditation.
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