He relapsed
abruptly into a silence which was plainly preoccupied.
Something of the radiant cheerfulness with which his
face had beamed seemed to have faded away.
"I'm in treaty for a house and a moor in the Highlands"--Thorpe
went on, in a casual tone--"in fact, I'm hesitating between
three or four places that all seem to be pretty good--but I
don't know whether I can get away much before the twentieth.
I hope you can contrive to come while I'm there.
I should like it very much if you would bring your mother
and sister--and your brother too. I have a nephew about
his age--a fine young fellow--who'd be company for him.
Why can't you say now that you'll all come?"
Lord Plowden emerged from his brown study with the gleam
of some new idea on his face. "I might bring my sister,"
he said. "My mother hates Scotland. She doesn't
go about, either, even in England. But I daresay Winnie
would enjoy it immensely. She has a great opinion of you,
you know."
"I only saw her that once," Thorpe remarked.
Some thought behind his words lent a musing effect
to the tone in which they were uttered. The brother's
contemplative smile seemed a comment upon this tone.
"Women are curious creatures," he said. "They take fancies
and dislikes as swiftly and irresponsibly as cloud-shadows
shift and change on a mountain-side in April.
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