At luncheon he sat depressed and silent, doing his duty with an effort to
his mother's guests. Netta also was in the depths. She had lost the power
of rapid recuperation that youth gave to Felicia, and in spite of the
comforts of Threlfall her aspect was scarcely less deplorable than when
she arrived. Moreover she had cried much since the delivery of the
Threlfall letter the day before. Her eyes were red, and her small face
disfigured. Felicia, on the other hand, sat with her nose in the air,
evidently despising her mother's tears, and as sharply observant as ever
of the sights about her--the quietly moving servants, the flowers, and
silver, the strange, nice things to eat. Tatham, absorbed in his own
thoughts, did not perceive how, in addition, she watched the master of
the house; Victoria was uncomfortably aware of it.
After luncheon Tatham took up a Bradshaw lying on a table in the panelled
hall, where they generally drank coffee, and looked up the night mail to
Euston.
"I shall catch it at Carlisle," he said to his mother, book in hand.
"There will be time to hear your report before I go."
She nodded. Her own intention was to start at dusk for Threlfall.
"Why are you going away?" said Felicia suddenly.
He turned to her courteously:
"To try to straighten your affairs!"
"That won't do us any good--to go away." Her voice was shrill, her black
eyes frowned. "We shan't know what to do--by ourselves."
"And it's precisely because I also don't know exactly what to do next,
that I'm going to town.
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