"Oh, my dear!" she said. "A singer! That would vex your father terribly.
Fancy the daughter of a Miss Tracy becoming a singer. And yet you want
her--that seems to me to matter most of all."
Then came a step at the door; it opened an inch or two, and Michael
heard his father's voice.
"Is your mother with you, Michael?" he asked.
At that Lady Ashbridge got up. For one second she clung to her son, and
then, disengaging herself, froze up like the sudden congealment of a
spring.
"Yes, Robert," she said. "I was having a little talk to Michael."
"May I come in?"
"It's our secret," she whispered to Michael.
"Yes, come in, father," he said.
Lord Ashbridge stood towering in the doorway.
"Come, my dear," he said, not unkindly, "it's time for you to go to
bed."
She had become the mask of herself again.
"Yes, Robert," she said. "I suppose it must be late. I will come. Oh,
there's Petsy. Will you ring, Michael? then Fedden will come and take
him to bed. He sleeps with Fedden."
CHAPTER IX
Michael, in desperate conversational efforts next morning at breakfast,
mentioned the fact that the German Emperor had engaged him in a
substantial talk at Munich, and had recommended him to pass the winter
at Berlin.
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