Lavendar made his adieux after luncheon and went off to London. “Good-bye for the present, Mrs. de Tracy; I shall be back on Wednesday probably, if I can arrange it,” he said. “Good-bye, Mrs. Loring,” and here he altered the phrase to “Shall I come back on Wednesday?” for his hostess had left the open door.

There was no hesitation, but all too little sentiment, about Robinette’s reply.

“Wednesday, at the latest, are my orders,” she answered merrily, and with the words ringing in his ears Lavendar took his departure.

“Do you remember that this is the afternoon of the garden party at Revelsmere?” Mrs. de Tracy enquired, coming into the drawing room a few minutes later, where Mrs. Loring stood by the open window. She 195 had allowed herself just five minutes of depression, staring out at the buttercup meadow. How black the rooks looked as they flew about it and how dreary everything was, now that Lavendar had gone! She was woman enough to be able to feel inwardly amused at her own absurdity, when she recognized that the ensuing three days seemed to stretch out into a limitless expanse of dullness. “The village seemed asleep or dead now Lubin was away!” Still, after all, it was an occasion for wearing a pretty frock, and she knew herself well enough to feel sure that the sight of a few of her fellow-creatures even pretending to enjoy themselves, would make her volatile spirits rise like the mercury in a thermometer on a hot day.

Miss Smeardon was to be her companion, as Mrs. de Tracy had a headache that afternoon and was afraid of the heat, she said. “What heat?” Robinette had asked innocently, for in spite of the brilliant sunlight the wind blew from the east, keen as a knife. 196 “I shall take a good wrap in the carriage in spite of this tropical temperature,” she thought. Carnaby refused point blank to drive with them; he would bicycle to the party or else not go at all, so it was alone with Miss Smeardon that Robinette started in the heavy old landau behind the palsied horse.

Miss Smeardon gave one glance at Mrs. Loring’s dress, and Robinette gave one glance at Miss Smeardon’s, each making her own comments.

“That white cloth will go to the cleaner, I suppose, after one wearing, and as for that thing on her head with lilac wistaria drooping over the brim, it can’t be meant as a covering, or a protection, either from sun or wind; it’s nothing but an ornament!” Miss Smeardon commented; while to herself Robinette ejaculated,––

“A penwiper, an old, much-used penwiper, is all that Miss Smeardon resembles in that black rag!”

Carnaby, watching the start at the door, 197 whistled in open admiration as Robinette came down the steps.

“Well, well! we are got up to kill this afternoon; pity old Mark has just gone; but cheer up, Cousin Robin, there’s always a curate on hand!”

For once Robinette’s ready tongue played her false, and a sense of loneliness overcame her at the sound of Lavendar’s name. She gathered up her long white skirts and got into the carriage with as much dignity as she could muster, while Carnaby, his eyes twinkling with mischief, stood ready to shut the door after Miss Smeardon.

“Hope you’ll enjoy your drive,” he jeered. “You’ll need to hold on your hats. Bucephalus goes at such fiery speed that they’ll be torn off your heads unless you do.”

“Middy dear, you’re not the least amusing,” said Robinette quite crossly, and with a lurch the carriage moved off.

Miss Smeardon settled herself for conversation. “I’m afraid you will find me but a 198 dull companion, Mrs. Loring,” she said, glancing sideways at Robinette from under the brim of her mushroom hat.

“Oh, you will be able to tell me who everyone is,” said Robinette as cheerfully as she could.

“I am no gossip,” Miss Smeardon protested.

“It isn’t necessary to gossip, is it?––but I’ve a wholesome interest in my fellow creatures.”

“And it is well to know about people a little; when one comes among strangers as you do, Mrs. Loring; one can’t be too careful––an American, particularly.”

Miss Smeardon’s voice trailed off upon a note of insinuation; but Robinette took no notice of the remark. She did not seem to have anything to say, so Miss Smeardon took up another subject.

“What a pity that Mr. Lavendar had to leave before this afternoon; he would have been such an addition to our party!”

“Yes, wouldn’t he?” Robinette agreed, though she carefully kept out of her voice the real passion of assent that was in her heart.

“Mr. Lavendar is so agreeable, I always think,” Miss Smeardon went on. “Everyone likes him; he almost carries his pleasant ways too far. I suppose that was how––” She paused, and added again, “Oh, but as I said, I never talk scandal!”

“Do you think it’s possible to be too pleasant?” Robinette remarked, stupidly enough, scarcely caring what she said.

“Well, when it leads a poor girl to imagine that she is loved! I hear that Dolly Meredith is just heart-broken. The engagement kept on for quite a year, I believe, and then to break it off so heartlessly!––I was reminded of it all by coming here. Miss Meredith is a cousin of our hostess, and they met first at Revelsmere when they were quite young.”

“There is always a certain amount of talk 200 when an engagement has to be broken off,” said Robinette in a cold voice.

“They seemed quite devoted at first,” Miss Smeardon began; but Robinette interrupted her.

“The sooner such things are forgotten the better, I think,” she said. “No one, except the two people concerned, ever knows the real truth.––Tell me, Miss Smeardon, whom we are likely to meet at Revelsmere? Who is our hostess? What sort of parties does she give?”

Being so firmly switched off from the affairs of Mr. Lavendar and Miss Meredith, it was impossible for Miss Smeardon to talk about them any more, and she had to turn to a less congenial theme.

“We shall meet the neighbours,” she told Robinette, “but I am afraid they may not interest you very much. I understand that in America you are accustomed to a great deal of the society of gentlemen. Here there are so few, and all of them are married.”

“All?” laughed Robinette.

“Well, there is Mr. Finch, the curate, but he is a celibate; and young Mr. Tait of Strewe, but he is slightly paralysed.”

“Why, Carnaby must be quite an eligible bachelor in these parts,” said Robinette; but Miss Smeardon was so deadly literal that she accepted the remark as a serious one.

“Not quite yet; in a few years’ time we shall need to be very careful, there are so many girls here, but not all of them desirable, of course.”

“There are? What a dull time they must have with the Married Men, the Celibate, the Paralytic, and Carnaby! I’m glad my girlhood wasn’t spent in Devonshire.”

Conversation ended here, for the carriage rumbled up the avenue, and Robinette looked about her eagerly. Revelsmere was a nice old house, surrounded by fine sloping lawns and a background of sombre beechwoods. The lawns to-day were dotted with groups of people, mainly women, and elderly at that. As Robinette and Miss Smeardon alighted at 202 the door an elderly hostess welcomed them, and an elderly host led them across the lawn and straightly they fell into the clutches of more and more elderlies.

“It is fairly bewildering!” Robinette cried in her heart; then she saw a bevy of girls approaching; such nice-looking girls, happy, well dressed, but all unattended by their suitable complement of young men.

“For whom do they dress, here? They’ve a deal of self-respect, I think, to go on getting themselves up so nicely for themselves and the Celibate, the Paralytic, and Carnaby,” thought Robinette, as she watched them.

Presently another couple came across the lawn; the young woman was by no means a girl, rather heavily built, with a high fixed colour. She was attended by a man. “Not the Celibate certainly,” thought Mrs. Loring with a glance at his bullock-like figure, his thick neck, and glossy black hair, “nor the Paralytic; and it’s not Carnaby. It must be a new arrival!”

At that moment it began to rain, but nothing daunted, their hostess approached her, and saying pleasantly that she wished to introduce her to Miss Meredith, she left Robinette and the young woman standing together under a spreading tree, and took the gentleman away with her.

The moment that she heard the name, Robinette realized who Miss Meredith was. They seated themselves side by side on a garden bench, and Miss Meredith remarked upon the heat, planting a rather fat hand upon the arm of the garden seat, and surveying it complacently, especially the very bright diamond ring upon the third finger.

After a few preliminary remarks, she asked Mrs. Loring if she were stopping in the neighbourhood.

“Yes, I am staying at Stoke Revel for a short time,” Robinette replied; “Mrs. de Tracy is my aunt, or at least I am Admiral de Tracy’s niece.”

Her companion did not seem to take the 204 least interest in this part of the information, only when Stoke Revel was mentioned she looked around suddenly as if surprised.

They talked upon indifferent subjects, while Robinette, as she watched Miss Meredith, was saying a good deal to herself, although she only spoke aloud about the weather and the Devonshire scenery.

“I will be just, if I can’t be generous,” she thought. “She has (or she must once have had) a fine complexion. I dare say she is sincere enough; she may be sensible; she might be good-humoured,––when pleased.”

“There is going to be a shower,” said Miss Meredith, “but I’ve nothing on to spoil,” she added, glancing at Robinette’s hat.

Sitting there on the bench, hearing the spitting rain upon the water below them and watching the leaden mists that slowly gathered over the landscape, Robinette fell upon a moment of soul sickness very unusual to 205 her. Miss Meredith too was silent, absorbed in her own thoughts.

“If she had looked even a little different it would have been so much easier to explain,” thought Robinette. Then suddenly she glanced up. She saw that her companion’s face had softened, and changed. There was a look,––Robinette caught it just for one moment,––such as a proud angry child might have worn: sulky, hurt to the heart, but determined not to cry. Instantly a chord was struck in Robinette’s soul. “She has suffered, anyway,” she thought. “May I be forgiven for my harsh judgment!”

With a shiver she drew her wrap about her shoulders, and Miss Meredith turned towards her. The expression Robinette had noticed passed from the high-coloured face and left it as before, self-complacent and slightly patronizing. “You seem to feel cold,” she said. “I never do; which is rather unfortunate, as I’m just going out to India!”

“Indeed? How soon are you going?”

“In about six weeks. I’m just going to be married, and we sail directly afterwards,” said Miss Meredith. “You saw Mr. Joyce, I think, when we came up together a few minutes ago?”

A weight as if of a ton of lead was lifted from Robinette’s heart as she spoke. She could scarcely refrain from jumping up to throw her arms about Dolly Meredith’s neck and kiss her. As it was, she bubbled over with a kind of sympathetic interest that astonished the other woman. It is only too easy to lead an approaching bride to talk about her own affairs, for she can seldom take in the existence of even her nearest and dearest at such a time, and in a few minutes the two young women were deep in conversation. When a quarter of an hour later Miss Smeardon appeared to tell Robinette that they must be going, she looked up with a start at the sound of footsteps on the gravel path. “Oh, you are here, Mrs. Loring; we couldn’t 207 think where you had gone,” said Miss Smeardon, acidly.

“And here is Miss Meredith of all people!” she continued, “I thought you were sure to be on the tennis court, Miss Meredith; Mr. Joyce is playing now.”

“Oh, we have had such a delightful talk,” said Dolly, so flushed with pleasure that Miss Smeardon gazed at her in astonishment.

“If only I knew her well enough to send her a munificent wedding present! How I should love to do so; just to register my own joy,” said Robinette to herself. As it was she shook hands very warmly with Miss Meredith before they parted, and when half way across the lawn, looked back again, and waved her hand gaily. Miss Meredith was pacing the grass, and treading heavily beside her, with a very gallant air, was her bullock-like young man.

“Mr. Joyce is quite wealthy,” said Miss Smeardon. “I understand that he is an only son too, and will some day inherit a fine property. 208 Miss Meredith is most fortunate, at her age and with her history.”

Robinette said nothing. She looked out at the glistening reaches of the river, now shining through the silver mist; at the fields yellow with buttercups, and the folds of the distant hills. As they drove up the lane to the house, the birds, refreshed by the rain, were singing like angels. In her heart too, something was singing as blithely as any bird amongst them all.

“Sometimes, sometimes our mistakes do not come home to roost!” she thought, “but fly away and make nests elsewhere––rich nests in India too!”

“How did you enjoy the party, Cousin Robin?” said Carnaby, who was waiting for them in the doorway. “I had a good tuck-in of strawberries. The ladies were a little young for my taste; just immature girls; no one under sixty, and rather frisky, don’t you think? By the way did you see Number One and her millionaire?”

“I don’t know what you mean by Number One,” said Robinette, haughtily, as she passed in at the door.

“You will, when you’re Number Two!” rejoined Carnaby, stooping to pinch Lord Roberts’ tail till the hero yelped aloud.