Quite the contrary. She did not notice her mother's silence. But she
_had_ noticed, before they left the house, how ill her mother was
looking. A very bad night--another of her dreadful headaches. Her father
had not come in to breakfast at all. Everything had been wrong at home
since that day when Talk had been sent down from Oxford. She longed to put
her arms around her father's neck and hug him. Behind her own happiness,
ever since the night of the Ball, there had been a longing, an aching
urgent longing to pet him, comfort him, make love to him. And she would,
too--as soon as all these festivities were over.
And then suddenly there were Johnny and his mother and his sisters walking
towards the West door! What a situation! And then there was Johnny
breaking away from his own family and hurrying towards them, lifting his
hat, smiling!
How splendid he looked and how happy! And how happy she also was looking
had she only known it!
"Good morning, Mrs. Brandon."
Mrs. Brandon didn't appear to remember him at all. Then suddenly, as
though she had picked her conscience out of her pocket:
"Oh, good morning, Lord St.
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