“Yes, I took first leave this year, and I’m sorry to say I have nearly come to the end of it.”
“And give us only two days, Lance—you ought to be ashamed of yourself!”
“The fact is, Frances wouldn’t let me off, and Colonel Kingsnorth lent me a hunter; we have had some ripping good runs.”
“Ah!” said his aunt, “I think it was the hunter that wouldn’t let you off.” Then, turning to Letty, she explained, “My brother-in-law, Lancelot’s father, has a living twenty miles from here, at a place called Sharsley; but he might as well be in London, for it’s so dreadfully out of the way. We don’t see one another half a dozen times in the year. This note,” holding it up to Letty, “is from your aunt; she says she is so desperately busy, that she can’t help with the church decorations. You know she has always undertaken the pulpit, she sends you as her deputy, and will supply the usual pots of palms and chrysanthemums. Lancelot,” looking over at her nephew, “I intend to make use of you—you and Miss Glyn must do the pulpit between you.”
“All right,” he answered, “I am agreeable, if Miss Glyn is; but let me warn you that I have no more idea of decorating than I have of making a watch.”
“I am afraid I am not much good either,” supplemented the girl; “I’ve had no practice.”
“Miss Glyn left school two months ago,” explained Mrs. Denton.
“Were you sorry?” enquired the young man, looking over at her.
“Yes,” then with a burst of artless honesty—“I have been to school nearly all my life.”
“She is coming out at the Hunt Ball early in January,” announced Mrs. Denton.