As for Wynyard, his fate was sealed! A chauffeur without a car is as a swan upon a turnpike road. He had had visions of proposing himself as coachman—for he did not wish to leave the village, and the vicinity of Aurea Morven—but Miss Parrett had other plans. In her opinion Owen, the chauffeur, was too good-looking to remain about the place—on account of the maids—and indeed her sister Susan treated him with most shocking familiarity, and spoke to him almost as if he were her equal. Her quick little eyes had also noticed in church that, during her brother-in-law’s most eloquent sermon, the chauffeur’s attention was concentrated upon her niece Aurea; and so, without any preamble, she called him into the library and handed him his pay, a month in advance, promised a first-rate reference, and waved him from her presence.
And Wynyard’s occupation was gone! There would be no more expeditions in the ramshackle old motor, no more potting of geraniums for Miss Susan, no more clipping of hedges, or singing in the choir. He must depart.
Departures, to be effective, should be abrupt; possibly Wynyard was unconscious of this, but the following day he left for London; his yellow tin box went over in a cart to Catsfield, whilst he walked to the station across the fields by the same road as he had come. His absence caused an unexpected blank in the little community; the Hogbens regretted him sorely, he was such a cheery inmate, and gave no trouble. His absence was deplored at the Drum; the village dogs looked for him in vain; his voice was missed in the choir; other people missed him who shall be nameless; and Joss howled for a week.
Wynyard had written to his sister to inform her that, owing to the breakdown of the dilapidated old car, he was once more out of a job, and found, in reply, that she was on the eve of sailing for America. He went round to see her in Mount Street, two days before she started.
“You are looking remarkably fit, Owen,” she said, “and the Parretts can’t say too much for you; indeed, in Susan’s letter I observe a tone of actual distress! Six months of the time have passed. I suppose you have saved a little money?”
“I have twenty pounds in the bank, and a couple of sovereigns to go on with. Of course I must look out for another billet at once.”
“And on this occasion you will take with you a really well-earned character. You have no debts and no matrimonial entanglements—eh? What about Miss Morven?”
“I’ve never laid eyes on her since I saw you.”
“How is that?”
“She’s been in London.”