Scrap's eyes grew round with wonder and affectionate pride in her
mother. Why, but how funny---fancy mother. What an old darling. Did
she really do that? How perfectly adorable of her. And did she really
say--but how wonderful of her to think of it. What sort of a face did
Lloyd George make?
She laughed and laughed, and had a great longing to hug her
mother, and the time flew, and it grew quite dusk, and it grew nearly
dark, and Mr. Arundel still went on amusing her, and it was a quarter
to eight before she suddenly remembered dinner.
"Oh, good heavens!" she exclaimed, jumping up.
"Yes. It's late," said Arundel.
"I'll go on quickly and send the maid to you. I must run, or
I'll never be ready in time--"
And she was gone up the path with the swiftness of a young,
slender deer.
Arundel followed. He did not wish to arrive too hot, so had to
go slowly. Fortunately he was near the top, and Francesca came down
the pergola to pilot him indoors, and having shown him where he could
wash she put him in the empty drawing-room to cool himself by the
crackling wood fire.
He got as far away from the fire as he could, and stood in one of
the deep window-recesses looking out at the distant lights of Mezzago.
The drawing-room door was open, and the house was quiet with the hush
that precedes dinner, when the inhabitants are all shut up in their
rooms dressing.
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