“But I am right,” she said. “You will see that I am right. I must go to the front door to welcome him.”
She let the stick, without which she never moved, slide from her hand, and with firm step and upright carriage, walked superbly down the terrace to the door of the gallery.
“He is coming home,” she cried. “He is coming for his bride, and there will be another marriage at Stanier. Let the great glass doors be opened; they have not been opened for the family since I came here sixty years ago. They were never opened for my poor son Philip. I will open them, if no one else will. I am strong to-night.”
Philip moved to her side.
“No; it’s Raymond you are thinking of, mother,” he said. “They will be opened in October. You shall see them opened then.”
She paused, some shade of doubt and anxiety dimming this sudden brightness, and laid her hand on her son’s shoulder.
“Raymond?” she said. “Yes, of course, I was thinking of Raymond. Raymond and Violet. But to please me, my dear, will you not open them now for Colin? Colin has been so long away, it is as if a bridegroom came when Colin comes. We are only ourselves here; the Staniers may do what they like in their own house, may they not? I should love to have the glass doors open for Colin’s return.”
The speck she had seen or divined on the road had come very swiftly nearer, and now it could be seen that some white waving came from it.
“I believe it is Colin, after all,” said Raymond. “How could she have seen?”
Old Lady Yardley turned a grave glance of displeasure on him.