“John Temple?” asked Mrs. Layton, aghast, who had secretly begun to hope that something might have happened to the new owner of Woodlea.
“Yes,” answered Mrs. Temple, without looking up.
She was re-reading John Temple’s telegram, which was couched in his usual somewhat graceful language. In it he expressed his deep regret for “your, may I say our, great loss.” Then came the day and date that he expected to arrive in England, and on the following day, after he had done so, he proposed to go to Woodlea, “if quite convenient to yourself.”
Mrs. Temple smiled a little scornfully as she read the last words.
“He has the whip hand now,” she thought; “he said I turned him out of the house, and now he can turn me.”
Mrs. Temple, in fact, knew this to be the case. The squire’s will had been read, and though she was most amply provided for, the Hall and its contents went to the heir. This arrangement was only in accordance with the original entailment of the property. Mrs. Layton, as we know, had tried hard to have this clause set aside, but the squire would listen to no such suggestion. The Hall went with the estate, and John Temple was now its owner.
“And—does he mention anything about bringing anyone home with him?” now inquired Mrs. Layton.
“Not a word; I don’t believe that girl is his wife.”
“Yet Mr. Churchill assured your father and myself that she is. And your father knows by name the clergyman who he says married them, Mr. Mold.”
“Well, we shall see, at all events; he will soon be here.”