In the creaking, rumbling fly conversation had been somewhat difficult, but when in a smooth-running first-class carriage—which luckily we had to ourselves—Lizzie and I enjoyed at last a heart-to-heart talk. My aunt’s letter, so tardy in making its appearance, had been cordial and even affectionate. She no longer addressed me as if I were a naughty child, but a full-grown human being, and even an intelligent member of society! I drew her epistle from my hand bag and glanced over it once more.
It was written from Claridge’s Hotel, and said:
“My dear Eva,—Do excuse my delay in writing to you with respect to your future plans, but I have been so busy, and so rushed, I’ve had scarcely a moment to myself. I have heard from Lizzie of her uncle’s most disgraceful and insane behaviour; how she has been driven out of her comfortable home by a penniless adventuress. Silly, irresponsible old men such as the professor, should, in my opinion, be placed under proper restraint. As ‘The Roost’ is closed you will, of course, come to us and be one of the family—at least, for a time. Lizzie has reminded me that you are nearly twenty, and it is certainly desirable that you should come out and be presented, but somehow you have always seemed younger than your age. Girls shoot up so quickly and one forgets how years fly.
“Professor Puckle’s aberration happens at a most awkward moment. You have heard from Dora of her engagement to Sir Beaumont Finsbury? We are all so pleased. He is quite charming, and has a lovely place in Sussex. A widower with one son, and that is the worst that can be said of him! The girls and myself are now in town getting the trousseau, making arrangements for the wedding, and have such hundreds of engagements, and so much to do, that I am afraid we shall not be at Torrington for another fortnight. However, your uncle is at home, and you and he will have to entertain one another. Unfortunately it is the dull time of the year (being Lent), but I dare say you will find a steady animal to ride, and you can always go and see dearest Mrs. Paget-Taylor, she is so cheery and sociable. The wedding will take place at Torrington early in April, and of course you will be one of the bridemaids. Post me a pattern, and I will order your dress at once. Your cousins send their love,
“Your affectionate aunt,
“Wilhelmina Lingard.”
“P.S.—I hope you have good news from Ronnie?”
“Quite a nice letter,” remarked Lizzie, as she watched me folding it up. I noticed that her colour had increased, and her eyes, like her uncle’s, were blinking—invariably a sign that she had something unpleasant to disclose. She gave a little cough, and said, “Now that all is so amicably arranged, I feel that I am bound to tell you that at first your aunt was anxious that you and I should not part company.”
I met her glance steadily and said:
“Then I presume that was the subject of all those letters and sheets of telegrams?”
“It was,” admitted Lizzie; “she wished you to share the flat, and urged that we were so accustomed to one another, and so attached, etc. But I absolutely declined, and said that the time had come when you should take your place in society. In short, my dear, I refused to be a party to shutting you up in a flat with a middle-aged person like myself—you must have your place in the sun.”