She appeared in a long fur cloak and gigantic sable stole—a shapeless bundle, resembling a well-to-do bear, with a cross human face. Susan, who, after all, was but fifty, looked unusually trim and young in a neat tailor-made, and becoming toque, whilst Aurea—who had been permitted to share in the triumph—was so pretty herself, that one scarcely noticed what she wore, merely that she exercised marvellous dexterity in the matter of introducing a large black hat into the interior of the car.
The household were collected for this supreme event: the cook, scowling and scornful, three maids, Hogben, Jones the head gardener, and the boot-boy, all assembled to witness the start—even Joss was in attendance. The motor (in truth a whited sepulchre) had been recently done up, and with its good-looking driver in smart leather coat and cap, presented an imposing appearance as it sped down the drive.
Miss Parrett closed her eyes, and when it swung out of the gate with a slight lurch, she gave a loud scream, but as it glided up the street, and she noticed that all eyes were on her car (there was Mrs. Ramsay at her door, and the doctor’s wife too), she became comparatively composed. At the gate of the Rectory the Rector awaited the great sight, and waved a valedictory stick; then they sped along easily, and, being now out of the village, Wynyard put on the second speed, but was instantly arrested by Miss Parrett’s protesting cries.
“Tell him to stop!” she called to her sister. “Supposing we met something. There!” as they passed the local carrier’s cart within three yards.
“Owen, you are not to go so fast!” commanded Susan. “Miss Parrett is nervous.”
He obediently slowed down to eight miles an hour, and as the old machine joggled along, bumping and shaking, the window-glasses rattling, the chauffeur was conscious of a feeling of angry contempt, instead of the usual partiality which a driver reserves for his own car. He had heard that a driver should be in tune with his machine, but how could any sane man be in sympathy with this bone-shaker? He was confident that after a long journey, or any extra strain, the old thing would collapse and fall to pieces.
After many directions, and not one poor little adventure, they entered a long avenue leading to an imposing Tudor house with picturesque chimney-stacks, situated in a great park. This was once the family seat of the Davenants—cousins of the Wynyards; and as she saw the end of her journey, Miss Parrett’s courage mounted. When the car was crawling, or, better still, at a full stop, she was extremely fond of motoring and not the least nervous.
As the visitors approached the hall door, they overtook a large and lively house-party, who were returning from the golf links to tea. They included Mr. Woolcock—a burly figure in knickerbockers, and brilliant stockings,—his vivacious married daughter, Mrs. Wade Waring, commonly known as “Joey,” her husband, and half a dozen guests—altogether a smart and cheerful crowd.
After the first noisy greetings had subsided, Mrs. Waring seized upon Aurea; she, to use her own expression, “adored the girl.” Aurea Morven was so pretty to look at, so gay, and so natural, it was a sin to have her buried in Ottinge; and she secretly designed her for her future sister-in-law. Aurea was just the wife for Bertie. He was heavy, dull, and stodgy—a complete contrast to herself, with her animated face, lively gestures, wiry figure, and ceaseless flow of chatter.
As, arm in arm, she was conducting her friend indoors, she halted for a moment to look back.