Sir Algernon stood between the girl and the door. “You’re mad, Quin! You’ll have enough to do to raise my screw, without attempting any more.”
“Let Miss Lisle pass,” said St. Quentin quietly. “On the proverbial second thoughts, which we all know to be not only better, but best, I have changed my mind. Publish Duncombe’s letter if you choose! I’ll not pay a farthing more to stop you, nor will Miss Lisle when she comes of age. That’s all. Sydney,”—the girl was at the door—“tell somebody to let Bridge’s man know that he finds he has to catch the 8.15 to town to-night.”
The girl went out, the precious note in her hand and a tumult of joy in her heart.
That horrible Sir Algernon was leaving, and St. Quentin, of his own freewill, was going to rebuild his neglected cottages. She felt she could have danced, despite the dignity of her eighteen years.
In the entrance hall she met the old doctor, struggling out of his wet mackintosh and goloshes. “What a night!” he exclaimed. “But this disgusting weather seems to suit you, my dear Miss Lisle. You are looking blooming, if you will allow an old man to say so. How is your cousin, eh? Moped a bit this dreary day, no doubt? Meant to look in upon him earlier to see if he fancied a chat, but I was kept in the village. And that reminds me, my dear young lady, I shouldn’t go to Loam for a day or two, if I were you; they’ve got something about there that I don’t quite like the look of. I’ve been warning the Vicar; that boy of his follows him about like a dog to all the cottages. Not that this kind of low fever is infectious, but you may take my word for it that where there’s fever there’s a reason for it. So don’t you go to Loam till I give you leave. Not that I’m anxious, you know, not at all.”
Sydney thought the old doctor was rather more anxious than he cared to own. His face was considerably graver than usual as he walked across the hall to the door of the library.
As he reached it, Sydney, who had followed him, caught his hand with a cry of terror. “Oh, go in quickly!” she cried.
Sir Algernon had been almost stunned by astonishment for the first few minutes after Sydney had left the room with the letter which practically spelt defeat to him. There was a changed, drawn look about his face, when at length he recovered himself sufficiently to speak.
“You don’t mean what you said just now?” he demanded hoarsely.
“I do. Will you dine before you leave, Bridge?”