The journey was made in what Gladys characterized as "style," the style being mainly supplied by Gull in his sedate chauffeur's uniform. But the fact that he drove the car left Bob free to sit with his guests in the tonneau. He put Jennie, as hostess and mistress of the car, in the right-hand corner, Mrs. Follett in the left one, and Gussie in the middle. He and Gladys occupied the adjustable seats behind the chauffeur. At sight of the light linen rug with the Collingham initials in crimson appliqué, Gussie and Gladys exchanged appreciative glances, and they both searched the neighboring piazzas for a glimpse of Addie Inglis or Samuella Weatherby.
Acquainted now with the fact that Jennie had viewed the celestial country whither they were traveling, and with her descriptions of the wonders she had seen almost learned by rote, the girls came near to forgetting that Teddy was in a cell. But his mother didn't forget it. Silent, austere, incapable of pleasure, and waiting only the moment of the boy's release and her own, her eyes roamed the parched September landscape and saw none of it. She did not appear unhappy—only removed into a world of her own, a world of long, long thoughts.
No one said much. There was not much to say and a great deal to think about. Even the house, the terraces, the gardens called forth no more than "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" of approval. Gladys declared that she felt herself wandering through the castle scenes in "The Silver Queen," the latest screen masterpiece, but no one else descended to such comparisons.
"It's like heaven," Gussie murmured timidly, to Bob, as they strolled between hedges of dahlias.
"Oh no, it isn't!" he laughed. "Three or four places at Marillo are much finer than this."
Subdued by sheer ecstasy, they assembled on the flagged terrace, where Mrs. Gull brought out tea. Bob was pleased at Jennie's bearing toward the chauffeur's wife—friendly with just the right touch of dignity.
"Mr. Collingham tells me you're English. We're almost English ourselves, since we were born in Canada. I've never been in England, but I should so love to go, though they say it's quite different since the war."
There was no more to it than that, but Mrs. Gull reported to her husband: "As much a lady as any I've ever served under—and I do know a lady when I see her. Miss Edith's a lady, too, but not a patch on this one. She may have been just as bad as they say she was, but you'd never believe it to look at her, and the sisters be'ave as pretty as pretty. Oh dear! And they with a murderer for a brother! It do seem queer, now don't it?"
To which Gull replied in his usual antiphon, "It most zure and zertainly do."
The jarring chord in this harmony came from Lizzie, while Bob was in search of Gull to bid him bring round the car. Lizzie stood looking down the two flowered terraces, where in honor of the visitors the fountains had been turned on.