He generally does.
Meanwhile, I will go and finish my writing." And he politely retires.
"Raby, my dear," says Mrs Rimbolt--Raby always knows what is coming when a sentence begins thus--"Raby, my dear, it does not sound nice to hear you making fun of your cousin.

Percy is very good to you--" "Oh yes!" interrupts Raby, almost enthusiastically.
"Which makes it all the less nice on your part to make a laughing-stock of him in the presence of his own father.

It may seem unlikely that people should be rendered invisible--" Mrs Rimbolt stops, conscious she is about to talk nonsense, and Raby gallantly covers her retreat.
"I'm sure I wish I knew half what he does about all sorts of things." "I wish so too," replies the aunt, severely and ungratefully.
Several hours pass, and still Master Percy does not put in an appearance.

As Mrs Rimbolt's uneasiness increases, half a dozen servants are sent out in various directions to seek the prodigal.

It is an almost daily ceremony, and the huntsmen set about their task as a matter of course.