Meantime all the others are sitting out in the garden, gossiping to their hearts' content. They had tried tennis, but the courts are rather soft now; and though an Indian summer has fallen upon us, still it has not sufficed to dry up all the moisture caused by the late rains.
The little thatched hut at the end of the gardens, where the sun is now blazing, has drawn them all into a net, as it were. It is an off day, when there is no shooting, and the women are therefore jubilant, and distinctly in the ascendant. The elder Lady Rylton is not present, which adds to the hilarity of the hour, as in spite of her wonderful juvenility she is by no means a favourite. Miss Gower, however, _is—_which balances the situation.
"I don't believe I ever felt so sorry for leaving any place," says Mrs. Chichester (who is always talking) with a soft but prolonged sigh—the sigh that is meant to be heard. She casts a languishing glance at Marryatt as she says this. He is not invited to the next country house to which she is bound. He returns her glance fourfold, upon which she instantly dives behind Mrs. Bethune's back, on the pretence of speaking to Margaret, but in reality to hide her face.
"Yes; I feel sorry too," says Colonel Neilson. "Where are you going?"
"To the Hastings'," says Mrs. Chichester, who has now emerged from behind Marian's back, with the same sad face as before. "You know her. Matilda Bruce!"
"Bless me! Has she got married?" says Colonel Neilson, who is really the kindest-hearted man alive.
"Yes; quite a year ago."
Mrs. Bethune laughs her usual slow, cruel little laugh, that is always in some strange way so full of fascination. She, too, had known Matilda Bruce. "I am afraid poor Mr. Hastings must have had a great many refusals," says she. She looks at Mrs. Chichester. "So you are going there?"
"Yes, for my sins. Fred Hastings is a very old friend of mine."
"What a great many old friends you have," says Mrs. Bethune softly.