CHRISTMAS was approaching, and so far, Miss Glyn’s acquaintance was confined to the village of Thornby. Now and then her aunt and uncle went from home for a dine and a shoot, and on these occasions, Mrs. Hesketh took charge of the young lady, who was delighted to be her guest. At Oldcourt the atmosphere was reposeful, the surroundings subdued and luxurious, and life was leisured. Here it was seemingly ‘always afternoon.’ Letty was not sure that she would enjoy it as a permanence; perhaps there was too much of the hothouse in the air, but it was an agreeable change from The Holt, where it was figuratively a perpetual Monday, with a large washing on hand!
Cousin Maudie, an accomplished musician, encouraged her guest to practise, played her accompaniments, and delighted in her voice. Now Mrs. Fenchurch hated ‘squalling,’ had no ear, and was actually proud of the fact, that she only knew “God Save the King” by seeing people rise to their feet! Mrs. Hesketh also loved books, and the tables at Oldcourt were loaded with the newest and best publications, whether in magazine, pamphlet, or book form. Letty laid greedy hands on these, but her hostess prudently withdrew a certain amount—sociological and theological works—which were not suitable reading for Sweet Seventeen.
Letty admired—and loved—her beautiful (if rather faded) hostess, and the love and admiration were mutual. The new-comer had also made friends with the Vicar and his wife. Mr. Denton, a hale, active man of fifty, much praised by his own flock, and respected by others. Mrs. Denton, though she had lost the use of her limbs through sleeping in a damp bed, was her husband’s helper in the parish, and it was surprising what an amount of work, correspondence, and interviews centred round her sofa. She was a frail, delicate Irishwoman, with a sense of humour, a cheerful disposition, and a warm heart. Both she and her husband had taken a fancy to the ‘little girl at The Holt,’ as they called her. She reminded them of their own little girl, who had married and gone to India; to see Letty flitting about the drawing-room, or seated in Mabel’s chair, was a sight that gave them sincere pleasure. And the child was so simple and unaffected, she looked into one’s face with such sweet candid eyes, and was ever ready and glad to carry a message, sing, play, or read, to the invalid, keenly interested in little village events, and the weekly Madras letter—all she asked for in return, was to be liked!
In a surprisingly short time, this attractive stranger had entirely wound herself into the affections of the Dentons; her visits were not frequent, but on hunting days, after she had exercised the dogs, she would turn into the Rectory drawing-room, and pour out tea.
Immediately before Christmas, Mrs. Fenchurch, who was absorbed in her correspondence, sent Letty down to the Rectory with a note. When she arrived there it was still teatime, and she was surprised to find that Mrs. Denton had a guest, a good-looking young man, who appeared to find himself completely at home, since he was sitting on the end of the sofa, nursing the Rectory cat.
“Oh, Letty, so there you are!” said Mrs. Denton. “Let me introduce my nephew, Lancelot Lumley. He has come to spend Christmas with us. Lancelot, this is Miss Glyn—you have heard of her?”
“We have met before,” he said eagerly; “a couple of months ago, I think, in that railway shake-up?”
“Yes,” she assented, for here was the very travelling companion, who had worn the buffer coat, “in the train.”
“It might have been a bad business,” he continued, and described the incident to his aunt.
“I suppose it happened when you were on your way home?”