I had a note from Alison: "I can't countenance her goings on in Catsford—her courting of publicity and applause, her holidays and picnics—no, nor—at present—her Institute either. If she is entitled to come back at all, she is not entitled to come in triumph—far from it. But I like and admire what she is doing about Miss Octon, and I have scandalized Mrs. Jepps and many other good folk by saying so. In that she's brave and honest. I shouldn't mind if you could let her know how I feel on this second point; my views on the first she'll know for herself."
I did take occasion to let Jenny know what Alison wished to reach her. "He may think what he likes about Catsford, if he's on my side about Margaret," she declared with evident pleasure. Then her eyes twinkled. "We'll have him yet, Margaret and I between us!" she added.
The next Sunday she attended Alison's church—she, Chat, and Margaret Octon. I hope that she was not merely "doing the civil thing," like the duchess in the story. After all she had always been one of his bugbears—one of the people who went "fairly regularly."
That same Sunday, in the afternoon, Lacey came to see me. He drove up in his dog-cart, handed the reins to a good-looking dark man, with upturned mustaches, who sat by him, and came to my door. Having seen their arrival, I was there to open it and welcome him.
"Won't your friend come in, too?" I asked.
"He's all right; he's in no hurry, and he's got a cigar. I want to speak to you alone for just a minute."
He followed me in and sat down. His manner was thoughtful and a little embarrassed.
"I saw you down in Catsford the other day," I remarked. "They were very kind to us!"
"I want to ask you a question, Austin," he said. "Do you think that Miss Driver would wish to receive a call from me?"
"I'm sure she'd be delighted."