A first disappointment was in store for him when he entered the house. Mrs. Norman and her little daughter were out driving with a friend, and were expected to return in good time for dinner.
Mrs. Presty was at home; she was reported to be in the garden of the hotel.
Randal found her comfortably established in a summerhouse, with her knitting in her hands, and a newspaper on her lap. She advanced to meet him, all smiles and amiability. "How nice of you to come so soon!" she began. Her keen penetration discovered something in his face which checked the gayety of her welcome.
"You don't mean to say that you are going to spoil our pleasant little dinner by bringing bad news!" she added, looking at him suspiciously.
"It depends on you to decide that," Randal replied.
"How very complimentary to a poor useless old woman! Don't be mysterious, my dear. I don't belong to the generation which raises storms in tea-cups, and calls skirmishes with savages battles. Out with it!"
Randal handed his paper t o her, open at the right place. "There is my news," he said.
Mrs. Presty looked at the paragraph, and handed _her_ newspaper to Randal.