The fact is that, almost as he left the Cottage by the front-gate, Susan had run across the road and hammered loudly at the little green one. This primitive knocking had become a signal now with the Barrys and Ella, and soon the latter had rushed to open the door. There had been entreaties from Susan that she would come over now—now, at once—and have a game of tennis with them. She did not know tennis. All the more reason why she should begin to learn; and Aunt Jemima was quite pining to know her.
‘Yes, do come!’
‘No—no, I can’t. I have said I would never leave this place.’
‘Oh, that, of course; but—oh!—’
Here Susan breaks off abruptly. Who is that pretty, tall lady coming down the path? It is Miss Manning, and Ella very shyly introduces Susan to her.
‘Miss Manning, tell her to come and play tennis with us this afternoon,’ says Susan. ‘Not a soul but ourselves, and she’s very lonely here. Father says she ought to see people.’
‘I think as your father does,’ says Miss Manning gently.
‘And will you come too?’ asks Susan. ‘Aunt Jemima’—with born courtesy—‘will come and see you to-morrow, but in the meantime—’
‘I am afraid I have some unpacking to do,’ says Miss Manning, smiling, having fallen in love with Susan’s soft, flushed face and childish air. ‘But if you can persuade Ella—I know, my dear’—to Ella, who has turned a sad face to hers, a face that has yet the longing for larger life upon it—‘that you wish never to leave this place. But to go just across the road.... And there is no one there, Miss Barry tells you; and it is only a step or two, and’—smiling again—‘if you wish it, I’ll go over in an hour and bring you back again.’
‘No, don’t do that,’ says Ella. ‘You are tired.’ She hesitates, then looks out of the gateway, and up and down the lane. It is quite empty. ‘Well, I’ll come,’ says she, giving her hand to Susan.