Mysie had for once nothing to say in Dolores’s defence, being equally hurt for Fly’s sake and the puppy’s. Dolores found herself virtually sent to Coventry, as she accompanied the party across the paddock, only just near enough to benefit by their protection from the herd of half-grown calves which were there disporting themselves; and, as if to make the contrast still more provoking, Fly, who had a natural affinity for all animals, insisted on trying to attract them, calling, ‘Sukkey! sukkey!’ and hold out bunches of grass, in vain, for they only galloped away, and she could only explain how tame those at home were, and how she went out farming with daddy whenever he had time, and mother and Fraulein would let her out.
The tree meantime came trundling down, a wonderful spectacle, with all its gilt balls and fir-cones nodding and dangling wildly, and its other embellishments turning upside down. There were greetings of delight at Casement Cottage, and Miss Hacket had kissed everybody all round before Gillian had time to present the new-comer, and then the good lady was shocked at her own presumption, and exclaimed—
‘I beg your ladyship’s pardon! Dear me! I had no notion who it was!’
‘Then please kiss me again now you do know!’ said Fly, holding up her funny little face to that very lovable kind one, and they were all soon absorbed in the difficulty of getting the tree in at the front door, and setting it up in the room that had been prepared for it.
Dolores had hoped to confide her alarms to Constance’s sympathetic ear, but her friend, who had written and dreamt of many a magnificently titled scion of the peerage, but had never before seen one in her own house, had not a minute to spare for her, being far too much engrossed in observing the habits of the animal. These certainly were peculiar, since she insisted on a waltz round the room with the tabby cat, and ascended a step-ladder, merrily spurning Jasper’s protection, to insert the circle of tapers on the crowning chandelier. There was nothing left for Dolores to do but to sit by in the window-seat, philosophizing on the remarkable effects of a handle to one’s name, and feeling cruelly neglected.
Suddenly she saw a fly coming up to the gate. There was a general peeping and wondering. Then Uncle Reginald and a stranger got out and came up to the door. There was a ring—everybody paused and wondered for a moment; then the maid tapped at the door and said, ‘Would Miss Mohun come and speak to Colonel Mohun a minute in the drawing-room?’
There was a hush of dread throughout the room. ‘Ah!’ sighed Miss Hacket, looking at Gillian, and all the elders thought without saying that some terrible news of her father had to be told to the poor child. They let her go, frightened at the summons, but that idea not occurring to her.
‘There!’ said Uncle Regie, ‘she can set it straight. Don’t be frightened, my dear; only tell this gentleman whether that is your writing.’
The stranger held a strip so that she could only just see ‘Dolores M. Mohun,’ and she unhesitatingly answered ‘Yes’—very much surprised.
‘You are sure?’ said her uncle, in a tone of disappointment that made her falter, as she added, ‘I think so.’ At the same time the stranger turned the paper round, and she knew it for the cheque that had so long resided in her desk, but with dilated eyes, she exclaimed, ‘But—but—that was for seven pounds!’