He was doing this when, about half-past nine,
his wife appeared at the door, bringing him a cup of coffee and
some biscuits, his wonted supper. Marian generally waited upon
him at this time, and he asked why she had not come.
'She has one of her headaches again, I'm sorry to say,' Mrs Yule
replied. 'I persuaded her to go to bed early.'
Having placed the tray upon the table--books had to be pushed
aside--she did not seem disposed to withdraw.
'Are you busy, Alfred?'
'Why?'
'I thought I should like just to speak of something.'
She was using the opportunity of his good humour. Yule spoke to
her with the usual carelessness, but not forbiddingly.
'What is it? Those Holloway people, I'll warrant.'
'No, no! It's about Marian. She had a letter from one of those
young ladies this afternoon.'
'What young ladies?' asked Yule, with impatience of this
circuitous approach.
'The Miss Milvains.'
'Well, there's no harm that I know of. They're decent people.'
'Yes; so you told me. But she began to speak about their brother,
and--'
'What about him? Do say what you want to say, and have done with
it!'
'I can't help thinking, Alfred, that she's disappointed you
didn't ask him to come here.
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