The game was really a mix-up of parcheesi, halma, and some others; to which were added some original rules out of Sinclair’s own head. Patty and Bob were partners against the other two, and soon the quartette were deeply absorbed in the game.
“You are the cleverest boy, to make this up!” cried Patty, as her side won, and they prepared to begin over again.
“Oh, he often makes up games,” said Mabel. “We all do, only Sinclair’s are always the best.”
“Mine are very good, though,” observed Bob, modestly.
“Good enough, yes,” said Sinclair; “only usually they’re so difficult that nobody can win but yourself.”
Bob made a profound bow at this compliment, and then the game went on. It seemed impossible that they had been about five hours on the train, when it was time to get out. They had reached Leicester, and from there were to drive to Cromarty Manor.
Two vehicles met them at the station.
Into one of these, a comfortable victoria, Sinclair assisted the four ladies, and in the other, the boys rode up with the luggage. The drive was beautiful, and Patty warmly expressed her gratitude to Mrs. Hartley, for inviting her to this delightful experience of English country life.
“It is beautiful,” said Mrs. Hartley, looking about her. “I’m always glad to get back from London to the restful quiet of these great trees and the far-away, peaceful hills.”
Mabel’s mood had changed. She no longer laughed and jested, and though sweet and gentle as ever, the hint of sadness had again crept into her face, and her speech was slow and quiet. Patty adapted her mood to the other’s, and it was almost in silence they drove along the country roads.