Something she sees there decides her. Sinking to her knees, she flings her arms around the old lady's neck, and lays her cheek to hers.
"I will say nothing, but that I am happy here," she says, in a low whisper.
Miss Penelope's arms close round her. The worst has come to her; yet there is solace in this clinging embrace, and in the dewy lips that seek hers. If she has lost one idol, who can say she has not gained another, and perhaps a worthier one?
Yet beyond doubt the two old ladies have sustained a severe shock: they hold down their heads, and for a long time avoid each other's eyes, as though fearing what may there be seen.
"Let us walk round the garden, Aunt Priscilla," says Monica, feeling very sorry for them. "The evening is lovely, and the roses so sweet."
"Come then," says Miss Priscilla, who is perhaps glad to escape from her own thoughts. And so they all wander to and fro in the pretty garden, bending over this flower and lingering over that in a soft, idle sort of enjoyment that belongs alone to the country.
Terence had disappeared, but, as he is not great on flowers, his presence is not indispensable, and no one takes any notice of his defection.
Presently they come upon the old gardener, who is also the old coachman, upon his bended knees beside a bed. The whole garden is scrupulously raked and scrupulously weeded till not a fault can be found. But Miss Priscilla is one of those who deem it necessary always to keep a servant up to his trumps.
Stooping over the bed, therefore, she carefully adjusts her glasses upon her nose, and proceeds to examine with much minuteness the earth beneath her. A tiny green leaf attracts her notice.
"Corney, is that a weed?" she asks, severely. "I certainly remember sowing some seeds in this place; but that has a weedy look."