Perhaps now he would get tired of Mrs. Noel.  But she was not the sort of woman a man would get tired of.  Even Barbara in her inexperience felt that.  She would always be too delicately careful never to cloy him, never to exact anything from him, or let him feel that he was bound to her by so much as a hair.  Ah! why couldn’t they go on as if nothing had happened?  Could nobody persuade him?  She thought again of Courtier.  If he, who knew them both, and was so fond of Mrs. Noel, would talk to Miltoun, about the right to be happy, the right to revolt?  Eustace ought to revolt!  It was his duty.  She sat down to write; then, putting on her hat, took the note and slipped downstairs.

CHAPTER XIX

The flowers of summer in the great glass house at Ravensham were keeping the last afternoon-watch when Clifton summoned Lady Casterley with the words: 

“Lady Valleys in the white room.”

Since the news of Miltoun’s illness, and of Mrs. Noel’s nursing, the little old lady had possessed her soul in patience; often, it is true, afflicted with poignant misgivings as to this new influence in the life of her favourite, affected too by a sort of jealousy, not to be admitted, even in her prayers, which, though regular enough, were perhaps somewhat formal.  Having small liking now for leaving home, even for Catton, her country place, she was still at Ravensham, where Lord Dennis had come up to stay with her as soon as Miltoun had left Sea House.  But Lady Casterley was never very dependent on company.  She retained unimpaired her intense interest in politics, and still corresponded freely with prominent men.  Of late, too, a slight revival of the June war scare had made its mark on her in a certain rejuvenescence, which always accompanied her contemplation of national crises, even when such were a little in the air.  At blast of trumpet her spirit still leaped forward, unsheathed its sword, and stood at the salute.  At such times, she rose earlier, went to bed later, was far less susceptible to draughts, and refused with asperity any food between meals.  She wrote too with her own hand letters which she would otherwise have dictated to her secretary.  Unfortunately the scare had died down again almost at once; and the passing of danger always left her rather irritable.  Lady Valleys’ visit came as a timely consolation.

She kissed her daughter critically; for there was that about her manner which she did not like.

“Yes, of course I am well!” she said.  “Why didn’t you bring Barbara?”

“She was tired!”

“H’m!  Afraid of meeting me, since she committed that piece of folly over Eustace.  You must be careful of that child, Gertrude, or she will be doing something silly herself.  I don’t like the way she keeps Claud Harbinger hanging in the wind.”

Her daughter cut her short: 

“There is bad news about Eustace.”