He came back with a start to what was going on around him, and idly he wondered what had happened to all the servants this evening.  Truth to tell he had been just a little surprised and taken aback at not finding his bag unpacked and his evening clothes laid out before dinner.

Timmy had slipped out of his chair and brought him a plateful of roast mutton, and now Rosamund was playing waitress, smiling at his elbow, a lovely Hebe indeed, with dishes of potatoes and greens.  He helped himself a little awkwardly, while Timmy was taking round platefuls of meat to his father, to Jack, and finally one to his own little self.

Then Betty went out of the room, and came back with a large dish of macaroni cheese, which she put on a side table.  Jack got up and whispered something to her rather angrily.  He was evidently remonstrating with her for not having allowed him to go and get the dish, for he motioned her rather imperiously back to her seat by her father, while he himself, calling to Dolly to help him, dealt out generous portions of macaroni cheese to those who had not taken meat.

All at once Timmy exclaimed in his shrill voice:—­“I like macaroni cheese.  Why shouldn’t I have a little to-day, too?  Here, Tom, you take my meat, and I’ll have your macaroni cheese.”  He did not wait for Tom’s assent to this peculiar proposal, and was proceeding to effect the exchange when Tom muttered crossly, while yet, or so Radmore fancied, casting rather longing eyes at Timmy’s plate.

“You know perfectly well you’ve got to have meat to drive the ghosties out of your silly head.”

Timmy submitted with a grunt of disappointment, and the meal proceeded.  Again Radmore felt surprised and puzzled.  Was it conceivable that the whole family—­with the exception of Mr. Tosswill, Jack and Timmy, had become so High Church that Friday was with them a meatless day?

CHAPTER XI

After her visitors had gone, Mrs. Crofton had come back slowly, languidly, to her easy-chair.

It was too warm for a fire, yet somehow the fire comforted her, for she felt cold as well as tired, and, yes, she could admit it to herself, horribly disappointed.  How stupid men were—­even clever men!

It was so stupid of Godfrey Radmore not to have come to see her, this the first time, alone.  He might have found it difficult to have come without one of the Tosswill girls, but there was no reason and no excuse for his being accompanied by that odious little Timmy.  It was also really unkind of the boy to have brought his horrid dog with him.  Even now she seemed to hear Flick’s long-drawn-out howls—­those horrible howls that at the time she had not believed to be real.  What a nervous, hysterical fool she was becoming!  How long would she go on being haunted by the now fast-disappearing past?