Guy, still looking slightly amused, got up and said that he had the longer ride, and must get back, and would expect to see them all on Thursday at Ingleby.
“Tell my aunt I’ll come over to Waynflete on Tuesday by the first train in the morning,” he said as he made his farewells, and went to get his horse.
Godfrey was desperate. He hated all the other ladies who surrounded Cosy. He hated Guy, who had, he thought, come with the same object as himself. He could hardly bring himself to refer to the basket which he had filled that morning with all the fruits and flowers which he had thought Constancy might recollect seeing at Waynflete. When he did bring it forward, he muttered, that his aunt had sent it, which was not true.
Cosy dived into it.
“White raspberries!” she exclaimed. “Now, didn’t they grow just by the gate into the stables? I hope that lovely garden is as untidy as ever.”
“It’s worse, I think,” said Godfrey, more amiably; “but there are plenty of raspberries ready for you to pick.”
“Delightful!” said Cosy, and Godfrey’s brows smoothed till he looked as friendly as Rawdie.
Presently they all walked back to the house together, and Constancy showed him the long, low sitting-room, full of their books and writing-materials. She took his visit to herself, and entertained him in the most cheerful fashion. But she expressed great pleasure at Guy’s invitation to Ingleby, and finally sent Godfrey away when his cart was ready, with a perplexed and appealing look in his grey eyes, and a puzzled wrinkle on his brows, even while she lifted Rawdie into the cart and kissed his nose tenderly, telling him to look out for her on Tuesday morning at Waynflete.
“Constancy,” cried Violet, “you abominable girl! You behaved worse than any of the Miss Bennets, or Emma Woodhouse either. I’m sure those young men must have thought you were delighted to see them.”
“Well, I didn’t mind them. I could not summon the daughters of the plough and bind them in chains, could I? You are all so narrow minded.”