"Certainly I did; and I'm sure Maude will see nothing strange in it. She knows perfectly well that----"
"It is not for Maude's sake that I spoke; but--but, Walter, had you no idea, no suspicion that----"
"That what, my dear Gertrude? Pray finish your sentence."
"That Lady Caroline cared for you herself?"
"Cared for me!"
"Cared for you loved you! wanted to marry you! Can I find plainer language than that?"
"Good heavens, child, what nonsense are you talking! There is not the remotest foundation for any such belief. Lady Caroline is my kindest and best friend. If there were no social difference between us, I should say she had behaved to me as a sister; but as for anything else--nonsense, Gertrude!"
Gertrude said no more; she merely shrugged her shoulders and changed the subject. But the effect of that conversation was not lost on Walter Joyce. It showed in the tone of his letter to Lady Caroline written that night, softening it and removing it entirely from the brusque and business-like style of correspondence which he generally indulged in.
The next day he left Helmingham early, having had a stroll with Maude,--in which he expressed his wish that the marriage should take place as soon as possible,--and a short talk with Gertrude, in which, however, he made no reference to the topic discussed on the previous evening.
It was a lucky thing that Mr. Joyce had started by an early train; for the Benthalls had scarcely finished their luncheon, before there was a violent ringing at the gate-bell,--there was no servant in the county who, for his size, could make more noise than Marian's tiger,--and Mrs. Creswell was announced. She had driven the ponies slowly over from Woolgreaves, and had been enjoying the bows and adulation of the villagers as she came along. Though of course she had driven through the village scores of times, she had never been to the schoolhouse since she left it with her mother on their memorable visit to Woolgreaves, that visit which resulted in her marriage.