It was very well for Maurice to try to speak as coolly as possible, and
even to succeed in making his voice sound perfectly innocent and
natural, but he was of much too frank a nature to play off this little
piece of dissimulation without a tell-tale change of countenance. Lady
Dighton's sharp eyes saw quite plainly that there was something untold,
but she took no notice of that for the present, and answered as if she
saw nothing.

"Have you worse accounts of his health?"

"No; not worse. But he will be quite alone."

"More alone than when you first left him? I do not quite understand."

"Yes; some very near neighbours--old friends of his and my mother's--are
going to leave Cacouna. I had no reason to be uneasy about him while
they were there. Do you think my grandfather could be persuaded to spare
me for six weeks?"

"Not willingly, I think. Could not my uncle come home without your
going?"

Maurice felt as if he were caught in his own trap, but he recollected
himself in a moment.

"There would be many things to do," he said. "Affairs to settle, the
farm to sell or let, and the household, small as it is, to break up."

Lady Dighton laughed outright.