"I was detained by the arrival of a mail-bag from Vizeu," Sir Terence
excused himself, as he took the chair which Mullins, the elderly,
pontifical butler, drew out for him. "Ned is attending to it, and
will be kept for a few moments yet."
Lady O'Moy's expression quickened. "Are there no letters for me?"
"None, my dear, I believe."
"No word from Dick?" Again there was that note of ever ready
petulance. "It is too provoking. He should know that he must make
me anxious by his silence. Dick is so thoughtless - so careless of
other people's feelings. I shall write to him severely."
The adjutant paused in the act of unfolding his napkin. The prepared
explanation trembled on his lips; but its falsehood, repellent to
him, was not uttered.
"I should certainly do so, my dear," was all he said, and addressed
himself to his breakfast.
"What news from headquarters?" Miss Armytage asked him. "Are things
going well?"
"Much better now that Principal Souza's influence is at an end.
Cotton reports that the destruction of the mills in the Mondego
valley is being carried out systematically."
Miss Armytage's dark, thoughtful eyes became wistful.
"Do you know, Terence," she said, "that I am not without some
sympathy for the Portuguese resistance to Lord Wellington's decrees.
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