Round the corner now came the elder Miss Firs-Robinson, with Elfrida in her train, and Mr. Blount, the curate, in Elfrida's. And after them a young man—rather short and stout, with clothes that suggested London, and an unfathomable air. It was Mr. Browne, who, when anything was on, could never keep his finger out of the pie.
Mrs. Greatorex turned quickly to Agatha.
"Not a word about that wretched idiot," she said in a low tone.
"And stay for awhile; the servants will be sure to talk, and I should like these people, who"—with a contemptuous shrug— "are inveterate gossips, to see that nothing really has happened."
"But your niece—-" protested Dillwyn, seeing Agatha's exhausted air.
"My aunt is right," said Agatha quickly, fearing a collision between the two—the young doctor's eyes, indeed, were burning fiercely. She moved forward at once to meet the coming guests, greeted old Miss Firs-Robinson with calm courtesy, and kissed Elfrida—Elfrida, who looked back at her keenly for a moment, then pressed her into a seat beside her, and pulled up a cushion behind her back. It occurred to Dillwyn that he rather liked Elfrida. He bade good-bye to Mrs. Greatorex, who seemed delighted to say good-bye to him. And another good-bye to Agatha, holding her hand until he met her eyes.
As he went another guest came—Lord Ambert.
Mrs. Greatorex received him with effusion, and gave him a chair near herself.
"A frightful thing, dear Mrs. Greatorex!" said Miss Firs-Robinson. She sank into a wicker seat upon the balcony with tremendous effect. Every one thought the balcony was going down. Providentially, it rebounded from the shock, and was itself again.
"A frightful thing, indeed!" said Mr. Browne, who had subsided near Agatha and Elfrida. "It has been a most merciful deliverance. I thought we were all going to the lower regions, didn't you?"