Roy put his nose into my hand.

“Why did we not go on the long journey with grandmamma?” I said to him.  And then I remembered that it is ridiculous to be morbid and dramatic, and so I rang for my maid—­a dour Scotchwoman whom I like—­and told her to bring my out-door things here to the boudoir-fire.  And soon Roy and I were a mile from the house.

Lady Tilchester has been in Scotland almost ever since we spent our four days at Harley.  When she comes back I shall ask her if she will come over here.  She may help me to awake.

I am sure if any one could read what I have written, they would say that poor Augustus had a great deal to put up with in having a wife like me.  Probably, from his point of view, I am thoroughly tiresome and irritating.  I do not exonerate myself.

* * * * *

After a brisk walk I felt better, and by lunch-time was able to come back to the house and behave as usual.  Augustus, I found, had gone to London.

Mrs. Gurrage was uneasy.  She dropped her h’s once or twice, a sure sign, with her, of perturbation and excitement.

When the servants had left the room she said to Amelia: 

“Quite time you were off with that basket for Mary Higginson.”

And Amelia took the hint meekly and got up from her seat, leaving a pear unfinished.

“Shut the door now, and don’t stand loitering there!” my mother-in-law further commanded.

Amelia is a poor relation, and has often to put up with unfinished manners.

“Look here, my dear,” Mrs. Gurrage said, when she felt sure we were alone, “I don’t like it—­and that’s flat!”

“What do you not like?” I said, respectfully.

“Gussie’s goings-on!  If you tried to coax him more he would not be forever rushin’ up to London to see that viscountess of his.  I wonder you don’t show no spark of jealousy.  Law!  I’d have scratched her eyes out had she interfered between me and Mr. Gurrage as she is doing between you two, even if she was a duchess!”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“Well, you must have your eyes glued shut,” Mrs. Gurrage continued, emphatically.  “That Lady Grenellen, I mean.  A nice viscountess she is, lookin’ after other people’s husbands!  Why, you can’t never have even glanced at the letters Gussie’s got from her!”

“Oh, but of course not!”

“Well, I have.  My suspicions began to be aroused directly after you got back from Harley.  I caught sight of a coronet on the envelope” (Mrs. Gurrage pronounces it “envellup"), “and I said to myself, there’s something queer in that, Gussie never sayin’ a word—­he as would be so proud of a letter with a crown on it.”

“Yes,” I said.  I felt sorry for her, she was so agitated.  All the veneer knowledge of grammar had left her, and she spoke with a broad, natural accent.