Mother's was characteristic. She hoped Mrs. Cromer was a nice woman and approved of me. Were the estates extensive? Had Cheneston a big rent roll? The end was typical. "I cannot see what you gain by postponing your marriage. It cannot enhance your value in Cheneston's eyes. It is always as well to remember that the world is full of girls, and an engaged man is not regarded in the same light as an engaged girl. I shall be very glad to hear that you have come to some sensible decision. Your father writes that he has struck an expensive mess, and that he has not been lucky at bridge lately. He is playing "pirate"—it has superseded auction; try to learn it if you can, social assets are never to be despised."
Pirate at Cromer Court! I smiled.
I sat down on an old oak chest in the tiled hall and opened Grace Gilpin's letter. The sun was shining brilliantly now; the twinkling raindrops that fringed the windows and hung glistening on the strands of jasmine were reflected on the red tiles in wriggling little shadows, like tadpole ghosts. I took off my wet mackintosh and my little sou'wester, and fluffed up my hair with my fingers.
Grace's letter was very much to the point.
"Walter Markham is home wounded. He is at Lynn Lytton Hospital, Long Woodstock, Near Manchester. What are you going to do about it, Pam?"
Well, what was I going to do about it?
What could I do about it—except pray that Cheneston didn't get to know until he didn't want me any more.
I sat down stupidly and stared at the letter.
I had a sudden vision of Grace writing, her golden head bent, seeing in the missive and Walter Markham's presence in England the chance of freedom for herself and Cheneston; believing Cheneston loved her and I loved Walter Markham; believing that our engagement was just an emotional mistake, never guessing it wasn't an engagement at all!
A great many engagements are emotional mistakes. Why not ours?