part to see to the movements of the servants, and though, in general, she was extremely rapid in domestic dealings, she sat on this occasion in long consideration. Yet they appeared simple enough. At Brayton, for instance, at the present time there was only the caretaker and his wife, who cooked in a plain manner, and her own child and the nurse and nurserymaid. She must therefore send down a marmiton, anyhow, to give Edgar eatable dinners, a housemaid and a footman; they, with his man, would make him comfortable. When they came back from their cruise they would go straight down to Brayton; the rest of the London household, therefore, could move down after they had gone, and be on board wages there. It all seemed simple.
But there was this also. On the day Edgar went to Brayton she herself was going to stay with Mouse, and would rejoin him in town the evening before they started to go abroad. That night, according to Edgar's invariable custom, when leaving London in the winter to go to the Continent by the morning train, they would spend at the Grosvenor Hotel at Victoria, so as to run no risk of missing the train owing to a fog. Once, years ago, he had missed the eleven o'clock train from this cause: since then he chose to run no risks. She would, then, not require any servants except the caretaker in Prince's Gate from the day she left town to stay with Mouse. They might therefore just as well leave town then and go down to Brayton at once. Yes, that would be more convenient; Edgar would be better looked after also. It was all quite reasonable, quite natural.
But none of these excellent arrangements were accounted for in her own mind by the reasons that made them so accountable. Lucia, from several causes, had not slept well last night, in spite of the fact that she had told her husband she was so sleepy. Madge's conversation with her after dinner had merited and had received due consideration, and Lucia had made up her mind that Madge was right, that extreme caution—for a time—was necessary. But that was not all, nor nearly all. Edgar's manner in their subsequent talk had a little disquieted her at the time, and on thinking it over after she had gone to bed, it disquieted her very much indeed; it became of the quality of nightmare. She felt sure that something had lurked behind the suggestion, for instance, that they should take Charlie with them. It was certain also that, having made that suggestion, he observed her, watched the effect of it on her. Decidedly, it was very disquieting.
Then for a little while she would tell herself that she was
