Poor little inadequate human words! Florella finished and directed her letter, and then she sat down by the fire and cried very much. She was not afraid, but it was almost more than her tender soul could bear. To be good enough To let every bit of selfishness and silliness and idle vanity be burnt away by the spiritual fire! To think largely enough of so large a thing!
More outside news came through the medium of Christmas letters from the various Palmer cousins. The attraction that had kept Godfrey at Kirkton Hall was freely commented on, and it need hardly be said that it was well to the front in Constancy’s mind when, on paying a New Year’s call on the Stauntons with her aunt and sister, she beheld a tall flaxen head in dangerous proximity to the chandelier, and recognised it as Godfrey Waynflete’s.
“I have come up on business about the mill while Staunton is still able to be with my brother,” he said, after the stiffest of greetings.
“I am very glad to see you,” said Mrs Palmer, cordially. “Do you know I want to ask a question? Are you going to let Waynflete again for the summer and autumn? No air ever suited me so well, and as for the noises, one gets used to them. I found the old horseman at last quite companionable.” Suddenly Constancy broke in, in clear, deliberate tones.
“If you think of going to Waynflete, Aunt Con, I think I’ll make a confession. It entered into my wicked head, when we stayed at Waynflete before, to try the effect on my family of supernatural terrors. I did most of the ghosts that people heard in the house. It’s very easy to take people in. And as I shall probably be in the Tyrol next summer, I dare say there won’t be any mysterious noises.”
“Constancy, can I believe you?” exclaimed Mrs Palmer.
Godfrey came and stood in front of her, towering over her chair.
“I must ask you to tell me exactly what you did?” he said sternly.
“Nothing much,” interposed Florella. “I told Mr Waynflete about it last summer.”
“Guy knows?”