Part 44 (1/2)
”Oh, I'll manage him, mother, if you're nervous.”
”I really think you must. I have not the courage to make or meddle in this matter; in short, I wash my hands of it.”
Antonia clapped hers.
”Hurrah!” she said. ”I can manage much better all by myself. All I ask you now, dear, good mother, is to trust me. Be sure that nothing whatever will happen to injure you, and simply give me leave to say, when I am telegraphing, that you would like to see Sir John.”
”Well, naturally, I always like to see him, dear, devoted fellow.”
”That's all right. Now you shall go back to your tea, and I'll be as mum as a mouse for the rest of the day.”
Mrs. Bernard Temple left the room, relieved at any sort of truce with her troublesome daughter. Antonia addressed the telegraph form to ...
_Sir John Thornton, The Grange, Nortonbury_, and filled in the following words:--
”Mother wants to see you without fail this evening. Take next train. Important. Antonia. Reply paid.”
The words went hard with the enthusiastic girl, for her precious eight s.h.i.+llings were nearly exhausted, and she knew that she must deny herself some sadly-needed cobalt if she sent that telegram.
”Never mind,” she said, as she let herself out of the house, and rushed off to the nearest post-office. ”You must do without that background of blue sky which I so wanted for your picture, Marie Antoinette. It is odd, but I never did think that I would allow Art to suffer in the cause of an ugly duckling.”
Antonia sent off her telegram and watched anxiously for the reply. It came in the course of an hour and a half, and was addressed to her mother.
”Expect me by the train which reaches Waterloo at nine o'clock,”
wired the gallant Sir John.
”There, now, Antonia,” said Mrs. Bernard Temple, ”you have only yourself to blame. What is to be done? We shall be at the theatre at nine o'clock.”
”Nothing could possibly be better, mother; I shan't go. I shall wait here for Sir John; we'll have a nice quiet time.”
”My dear, I'm afraid he'll be terribly offended.”
”No, mother, he won't; at least, not with you. Now, do go the theatre and be happy. Take Annie and Nora, and let them enjoy themselves. I promise you that you shall have serene skies on your return. Can't you trust me? Did you ever find me fail you yet when I promised you anything?”
”No, I never did, you queer, queer creature.”
Mrs. Bernard Temple was restored to good humour. Dinner pa.s.sed off pleasantly, and immediately afterwards a cab conveyed three of the party to the Lyceum.
Antonia had donned her rusty brown velveteen dress, and sat with her hands folded in front of her in a deep armchair.
Her black hair was combed high over her forehead; her eyes were bright.
Anxiety had brought a slight colour into her cheeks; she looked almost handsome.
At about twenty minutes past nine a cab was heard to stop at the door, and a moment later Sir John Thornton was ushered into the drawing-room.
”How do you do?” he said, in a stiff voice, to Antonia. ”Where is your mother? Her telegram has startled me a good deal.”
”It was my telegram,” said Antonia, in a calm voice.
”Well, that does not matter. Will you have the goodness to inform your mother that I am here?”