about religion; but we can leave that for the present. The point is that Mr. Baxter should, if possible, see something unmistakable. The rest can take care of itself. … Then, if you consent, Lady Laura, we might have a little sitting here next Sunday night. Would nine o’clock suit you?”
He glanced at the two ladies.
“That will do very well,” said the mistress of the house. “And, about preparations—”
“I will look in on Saturday afternoon. Is there anyone particular you think of asking?”
“ Mr. Jamieson came to see me again a few days ago,” suggested Lady Laura tentatively.
“That will do very well. Then we three and those two. That will be quite enough for the present.”
He stood up—a big, dominating figure—a reassuring man to look at, with his kindly face, his bushy, square beard, and his appearance of physical strength. Lady Laura sat vaguely comforted.
“And about my notes,” asked Maud Stapleton.
“I think they will not be necessary. … Good day. … Saturday afternoon.”
The two sat on silently for a minute or two after he was gone.
“What is the matter, dearest?”
Lady Laura’s little anxious face did not move. She was staring thoughtfully at the fire. Mrs. Stapleton laid a sympathetic hand on the other’s knee.
“Dearest—” she began.