"Good heavens! You will rusticate with a vengeance! I hear she's never out of an apron and nailed boots. But she makes her farm prosper, which is something in these days. Monnie is a good woman spoiled. Has she that imp of a nephew with her still?"
"I believe so, and Aunt Dannie."
Lady Fielding shrugged her shoulders.
"If you prefer their company to mine, I have nothing more to say."
"Don't be cross, Molly. I must get away from conventionality for a bit, and try the simple life. Your French chef is spoiling my digestion and laying the foundation for gout. May I catch the three o'clock train this afternoon?"
"Yes. I will order the car. I'm not cross with you, Randolph; but you have sealed my lips, so you can expect no sympathy. I understand, and that is all I can say."
About six o'clock that evening Randolph Neville alighted from the train at a quiet little sleepy station bright with roses, carnations and stocks. It had been a hot afternoon. Heat still simmered in the air, and no cloud softened the brilliant blue sky above. The old stationmaster was struggling into his official coat as the train steamed up. He came forward, mopping his brow with a red and white handkerchief.
"Any luggage, sir? Miss Pembroke be awaitin' outside. Her mare won't be handled by none but herself."
Randolph pointed to his bags, then went through the tiny booking-office to the white dusty road. There, in a high dogcart, was seated his cousin Monica. She was clad in brown holland coat and skirt and a large shady hat. She looked cool and fresh, and every inch a lady. When she turned her face to him and smiled her welcome, her skin might be tanned by outdoor life, but her bright blue eyes and wealth of soft golden hair rolled back from a broad, intellectual forehead, and her frank smile proclaimed her a good-looking attractive woman.
"It's delightful to see you, Randolph."