Page:The White Peacock, Lawrence, 1911.djvu/275

Rh He broke his bread nervously, and drank some coffee as if he were agitated, making noises in his throat as he swallowed.

“It’s too early for her, I should think,” he replied, wiping his moustache hurriedly. Yet he seemed to listen for her. Lettie’s bedroom was over the study, where Rebecca had laid breakfast, and he listened now and again, holding his knife and fork suspended in their action. Then he went on with his meal again.

When he was laying down his serviette, the door opened. He pulled himself together, and turned round sharply. It was mother. When she spoke to him, his face twitched with a little frown, half of relief, half of disappointment.

“I must be going now,” he said—“thank you very much—Mother.”

“You are a harum-scarum boy. I wonder why Lettie doesn’t come down. I know she is up.”

“Yes,” he replied. “Yes, I’ve heard her. Perhaps she is dressing. I must get off.”

“I’ll call her.”

“No—don’t bother her—she’d come if she wanted——”

But mother had called from the foot of the stairs.

“Lettie, Lettie—he’s going.”

“All right,” said Lettie, and in another minute she came downstairs. She was dressed in dark, severe stuff, and she was somewhat pale. She did not look at any of us, but turned her eyes aside.

“Good-bye,” she said to him, offering him her cheek. He kissed her, murmuring: “Good-bye—my love.”