'It is a very fine tower. Aren't there plenty of owls' nests in it?' said Gertrude, with a perfectly grave voice, but which brought an odd thrill of mingled amusement, pleasure, and pain, as the conviction crossed him that this was the rival owl of the academy, and he recognised the likeness to the photograph. Perhaps Gertrude was only too strongly reminded of Cherry's sketch of himself, for between grief, hard work, and anxiety, he was very thin-cheeked and large eyed, and she was by no means clear that he had not come to consult her father professionally, and that the odd answer she had received in the morning had not been an evasion.
Richard came in with a casting vote in favour of the architectural style, at which Gertrude shrugged her shoulders but submitted. Ere long a messenger appeared with the candlesticks adorned by Mrs. May, and a message that she could not stay later; and Richard, going to see after her, brought back her urgent desire that Gertrude would return at the same time. Tom said she had not been strong, and must not be out after sunset.
'O, I dare say,' said Gertrude.
'There's no more than I can easily finish alone,' said Richard.
'Indeed! Look at the font!'
'The wreaths are all ready. She really ought not to stay,' he added to Ethel; 'you know there is always a sudden chill when you come down the hill late, and as Ave says, the child is not in health to take liberties.'
Ethel went up to Gertrude and whispered, 'We must give in, Daisy, we shall have a fuss if we don't.'
She had almost said she did not care, but it was in church, and she abstained, only adding, 'You'll come too.'
Ethel assented, though it was the ruin of the quiet Easter Eventide walk her father must have meant them to have when he sent Lance to meet them there. All that could be done was to keep together. In general Rupert Cheviot was content to get up a discussion with the elder sister, but he must have scented a rival, for whether Gertrude walked fast or slow, she still found him by her side, preventing all the inquiries she was burning to make about Geraldine, and the reported changes, things that could not brook discussion before a stranger. She did manage, while Rupert was tucking in a loosened fold of Averil's cloak, to say, 'I suppose Geraldine has no picture for the exhibition this year. She has not finished her Academies.'
'No. They are nearly done, but she has not touched them for a long time now. There is a very pretty little group of some of the village children that she did last summer, but I don't think she will send it up.'