We went quickly back to the motor, spun into Southsea, and before the female contingent knew exactly what was happening to it, rooms were engaged for the night, and a "responsible person" despatched by the first train to town, with a letter demanding certain articles of our luggage.
I was quite excited about the evening, but outwardly was "more than usual calm," as we wandered here and there, after luncheon, seeing Southsea—which must, by the way, be a most convenient place for girls, as they can choose between Navy and Army, or play with both if they are pretty enough. Just as we were going to have a run out to Hayling Island in the car, whom should we meet in the street, close to our hotel, but Mrs. Senter and Dick Burden.
She was looking very fetching and young, almost like a girl, certainly as unlike an aunt as possible. And, mother, I know it wasn't an accident. I don't mean about her being an aunt, of course, but being in Southsea and meeting us.
The day she called, in London, when Sir Lionel was in Warwickshire, I heard her asking Mrs. Norton questions about our route; and when dear Emily mentioned Winchester, she said, "Oh, won't you be passing through Southsea?"
Mrs. Norton answered in her vague little way that she was sure she didn't know. Then Mrs. Senter went on to say that she and Dick were invited to stay at a house near Southsea, and she thought they would probably accept. Perhaps, if they did, we might meet. But, as I wrote you, I thought it more likely we wouldn't, unless Sir Lionel should seem keen when he heard; and he didn't. He apparently took no interest whatever when his sister repeated the conversation to him next day.
Well, I'm sure Mrs. Senter made up her mind to accept her friend's invitation (even if she didn't ask for one) the minute she found out that we were likely soon to pass Southsea. She must have known we would be sure to stop for a look round Portsmouth and the neighbourhood, and thought the chance worth taking. If she hadn't, she would have stopped in London till the end of the season, no doubt, for she's the kind of person who lives for Society, and only cares for the country when it's the fashion to be in it.
I wouldn't be a bit surprised if she'd been patrolling the streets of Portsmouth and Southsea for a day or two, in the hope of running across us sooner or later. Or, as Dick Burden fancies himself in the part of a detective, perhaps he hit upon some surer way of getting at us.
Those two, aunt and nephew, play into each other's hands beautifully. Mamma, it seems, is visiting in Scotland at the moment, so they hunt in couples. How long "Aunt Gwen" has been a widow the saints may know; I don't—but anyway she has begun to "take notice," as people say about bright little babies. She has looked up Sir Lionel in Debrett, and marked him with a red cross for her own, I believe. Such impudence! A woman like that, to dare think of trying to grab a man of his position and record! She ought to know how unsuitable she would be for him.
As for Dick, of course he wants to flirt with me; but wait—wait till you hear the latest developments.
Sir Lionel seemed neither pleased nor displeased at the meeting, but he could not have suspected it was more than an accident, for he remarked that it was odd we should run up against each other like this!