Although he had every chance of spending his time, during his absence,
agreeably as well as profitably, his inexplicable sense of uneasiness
at being away from home, remained with him even on the railway; defying
all the exhilarating influences of rapid motion and change of scene,
and oppressing him as inveterately as it had oppressed him the night
before. Bad, however, as his spirits now were, they would have been
much worse, if he had known of two remarkable domestic events, which it
had been the policy of his household to keep strictly concealed from
him on the day of his departure.
When Mr. Blyth's cook descended the first thing in the morning to air
the studio in the usual way, by opening the garden door, she was not a
little amazed and alarmed to find that, although it was closed, it was
neither bolted nor locked. She communicated this circumstance
(reproachfully, of course) to the housemaid, who answered (indignantly,
as was only natural) by reiterating her assertion of the past night,
that she had secured the door properly at six o'clock in the evening.
Polly, appealing to contradictory visible fact, rejoined that the thing
was impossible. Patty, holding fast to affirmatory personal knowledge,
retorted that the thing had been done.
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