"He is coming," she said, on her return. "But I don't think he is pleased. He had a lot of papers out, and he stopped to put them away." "Did you tell him I was here?" Fulvia could not resist putting the question. "No, he didn't ask." The study door was heard to open and shut. Fulvia wished she could have controlled the rush of blood to her face. An impulse came over her to escape, yet she sat still. And when Nigel entered, there were no signs of a corresponding agitation on his part. He looked paler, sterner, older, than she could have imagined possible. Fulvia asked timidly, "Will you have some tea?" "Thanks." Fulvia brought it herself: and it remained untouched. Glances were exchanged by the three girls; and Daisy spoke in response to a sign from Fulvia—"Nigel, the tea is getting cold. Won't you take some now?" Nigel roused himself to comply; but after a few sips the cup was pushed aside, and he seemed overpowered by grief and weariness. Fulvia told herself that she ought not to wonder; yet she did wonder. She had expected a word from him, or a look—and she had neither. But perhaps such expectations were unreasonable. It was very soon—only a few hours since his father's death; and Nigel had always been an affectionate son. She signed to the girls to say no more; and for ten minutes the clock ticked in unbroken silence. Nigel spoke at last without stirring— "Did you say my mother wanted me?" Daisy's "Yes" and Fulvia's "No" came together. Daisy showed surprise. "No," repeated Fulvia; "not when she knows how you are." "I don't wish her to know." Fulvia could not take upon herself to answer. She could only look again towards Daisy, and Daisy made response— "Nigel was up all night, and he has had no rest. Everybody has rested except Nigel." Nigel paid no heed, and another five minutes passed. Then he stood up, and without a word moved towards the door. "Fulvie, do go too," begged Daisy. "Nobody can manage so well as you; and I'm sure he isn't fit." Fulvia obeyed the suggestion, thrusting her own reluctance into the background. She counted Nigel too worn out to care what she or anybody might do; and certainly it was desirable that the interview should not be prolonged. But how to shorten it was the question. Mrs. Browning, absorbed in her own grief, did not notice anything unusual in his look. He sat down close beside her, leaning his head against the back of her chair out of sight; so, after the first minute she had no chance to observe. Mrs. Browning welcomed him tenderly, bidding Fulvia also remain, which settled the perplexity of the latter how to act.