"What have you been doing in these days, Halcyone?" Mr. Carlyon asked.
"I have not seen you since Monday morning. Have you been getting into
any mischief?"
Halcyone reluctantly admitted that she had not. There was, she
explained, very little chance of any of an agreeable kind coming her way
at La Sarthe Chase. She had been gardening with William--they had quite
tidied the top terrace--and she had been reading French with Aunt
Roberta, but the book was great nonsense.
Then she added that she had brought an invitation from the Aunts La
Sarthe that Mr. Carlyon's guest should accompany him when he dined with
them on the Saturday. It had become the custom for him to partake of
this repast on the same occasions that Mr. Miller did--once a month.
John Derringham frowned under his straw hat which he had pulled over his
eyes. He had not come into the country to be dragged out to bucolic
dinner parties. But upon some points he knew his old master was obdurate
and from his firm acceptance of the invitation this appeared to be one
of them.
Then Halcyone asked politely if he would have a second cup of tea, but
he refused and again addressed Cheiron, ignoring her.
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