It was not at all a joyful occasion as it ought to have been, since we had come back.

My grandmother hovered about us uneasily, pressing this and that thing upon us, for she had bidden Neil Doherty to lock up and go to bed, saying that we could wait on ourselves, to his manifest indignation.

And presently my grandfather got up, excused himself for being tired, and, having kissed my godmother and me on our cheeks, went away with a tired and uncertain step.
Something had happened.

It was obvious that there was a sense of it in the faces of the old servants.

Even Dido whimpered uneasily under my caressing hand.
My grandmother remembered to ask me if I had heard from Theobald, and it was only then, with a sense of shame, that I realized the absence of Theobald's letters and the fact that I had not noticed their absence.
Why, I had not written to Theobald for several weeks past; but I did not dare to tell my grandmother so.