"MY DEAR SIDNEY,—Mrs. Norman married the son of the second cousin of my brother-in-law, Colonel St. Orr, who married my youngest sister. Can this be called a connection? Certainly nothing more. I have neither heard nor seen anything of the lady herself, except that my sister mentioned her name in a letter. Why are you so precipitately making her acquaintance? Surely you can wait till I have called upon her? And I certainly am not going to do that till I return from town. I am going up for a fortnight next Tuesday.—Yours in haste, with love—
"CLARICE DE CRESSIERS."
Sidney read the first part of this note aloud at the breakfast table. The latter bit she kept to herself, for she knew she would have no peace from her uncle until she had been down to the cottage; and though Mrs. de Cressiers always tried to rule her life, Sidney had never allowed her to do so. Her father was quite aware of Mrs. de Cressiers' failing and always backed his daughter up to resist her sway.
"No woman shall rule my ship," he would say genially; "and these old families are not living in the feudal days; neither are we their serfs. Oh, I know, my dear, your mother was a de Cressier, but the Urquhart blood is quite as good, and a little more vigorous than theirs; and you are your father's daughter, remember, and not Mrs. de Cressiers'!"
So after breakfast Sidney accompanied her uncle down to Lovelace's Cottage.
The front garden was still strewn with empty packing cases and paper and litter of all kinds. As they unlatched the gate, Mrs. Norman came out of the front door. She was a pretty woman; her complexion was good, her eyes rather a vivid blue. She showed a good many teeth when she smiled and talked, and her hair was bright golden. She was dressed in a very short and shabby tweed skirt, a man's bright yellow cardigan jacket was over it, and a soft grey felt hat, with a jay's feather and a bit of staghorn moss in it, gave her a distinctly sporty appearance.
"How awfully kind and friendly of you!" she said, holding out her hand to Sidney. "Your uncle told me what a friend you were to any forlorn strangers. Do come in, if you don't mind the chaos. I'm in the state of the Irishman who said: 'Sure I'm in sech a botheration and commiseration, that I don't know whether me toes come out of me head or me legs!'"
She led the way into the tiny house, found some chairs, and Sidney sat down and looked about her.
"You ought to have had a woman in to clean," she said. "Are you quite by yourself?"
"Absolutely. I quaked in the night when I remembered half of my china was lying in the packing cases in the garden; but then I remembered that the country was not crammed with thieves, and I slept like a dog till nine this morning. I've only just finished my breakfast."
Major Urquhart was already examining the walls of the tiny sitting-room.