Frances had always divined that her brother had cared for Letty Glyn. Of course, now that she was married, she was out of his reach; still, in talking over the country-side news, she studiously omitted any particular reference to the Blagdons.
“What about the Court? How did they get on?” her brother asked at last.
“Not very well,” she was obliged to confess; “he is a strange sort of a man, and is but little at home. He has a shocking temper.”
“A nice sort of husband for her! Mrs. Fenchurch should be proud of herself! Look here, Francis, you must take me to call to-morrow.”
Lumley carried out his suggestion, but, as it happened, unaccompanied by his sister, for at the last moment, a dying parishioner had summoned her, and he walked up to Sharsley alone.
It was summer, and in one respect Sharsley was at its best; but, on the other hand, the neat trimness, and the closely mown lawns appeared to be things of the past. The place now wore a desolate, neglected appearance, and as he approached, the visitor noticed that the shutters of most of the rooms were closed, and the avenue and gravel paths were full of weeds. On enquiry at the door, he was informed that Mrs. Blagdon was somewhere in the grounds, and after a search he found her playing with her child—a beautiful little golden-haired creature, now able to walk, attended by a somewhat grim-looking nurse. Her mother, sitting upon the grass making daisy-chains for her, sprang up when she saw Lumley approaching, and greeted him with smiles. But how she was changed! He felt shocked. The roundness of Letty’s face was gone; her beautiful blue eyes looked sunken, their expression was strained and anxious; she might be seven or eight years older than her real age—which was little more than twenty. Evidently she had passed through a devastating storm which had ravaged her looks and broken her heart. It was as if he and her husband had both coveted the same beautiful flower, and Blagdon had plucked it, and thrown it away to wither and die.
But there was no sign of depression in Mrs. Blagdon’s manner or conversation; she asked many questions about his regiment and Egypt; she talked of his father and sister and Mrs. Hesketh. No, she had not been over to Thornby for nearly a year. In answer to his exclamation of astonishment, she coloured and said:
“You see, I can’t very well leave baby.”
“Then I suppose they come over and see you fairly often?”
“Not very often,” she answered, with a trembling lip. She was not disposed to inform him, that her husband had quarrelled with Mrs. Fenchurch, and practically turned Mrs. Hesketh out of the house, and hastily changed the subject.