"It almost seems that I am going to be happily married," she said with a queer smile.
She did not write to Ronnie. There was nothing to be gained by encouraging a correspondence—she agreed entirely with her father on that point. Steppe she dismissed from her thoughts just as quickly as she could.
Why had Sir John asked for Christina's address? There was no reason why he should not. Perhaps Ambrose left a message—but that would have been delivered long ago. And—if Ambrose had left any message, it would be to her. The will perhaps. The doctor had told them both that Ambrose had left his few possessions to Christina. She was glad of that. Yes, it must be the will.
This served at any rate to explain Sir John's call.
The appearance of a title at her front door, caused Mrs. Colebrook considerable qualms. It was her fate never to be wearing a skirt appropriate to the social standing of distinguished visitors.
Christina was lying down. She had had an interview with the osteopath in the morning and he had insisted upon twenty-four hours of bed.
"Show him up, mother. He won't faint at the sight of a girl in bed—lawyers have a special training in that sort of thing."
"He doesn't look like a lawyer," demurred Mrs. Colebrook, "he's a sir."
She conducted the counsel upstairs with many warnings as to the lowness of roof and trickiness of tread. Mrs. Colebrook was resigned to the character and number of Christina's visitors and, in that spirit of resignation, left them.
"We have met," said Sir John and looked around for a chair.