Yet Mrs. Stanton did not discourage the intimacy to the extent Aldyth expected. She was fretful with her daughter when she showed a preference for Guy's society; but she did not endeavour to prevent their meeting. Gladys would have found her days dull at Wyndham but for his frequent visits.
There were few other visitors during the early days of their bereavement. Mr. Greenwood, and his brother, the solicitor, came pretty frequently, and were welcome guests, although their visits were ostensibly on business. The banker's large house in the High Street seemed grievously large and vacant to him without the wife who had made it so cheerful a home. Aldyth was a great favourite with him, and he was perhaps, glad that his office of executor to Stephen Lorraine's will afforded him many pretexts for visiting her at Wyndham. The evenings spent in her pretty drawing room, with three charming women exerting themselves for his entertainment, were a pleasant contrast to those he passed in dreariness at home.
The rides which Gladys took almost daily were her chief source of pleasure in this quiet season. Dearly as she loved the exercise, Aldyth could seldom accompany her, for her mother, shrinking more and more from being left to her own thoughts, constantly required her companionship. Aldyth was content to forego her own pleasure; it was so sweet to feel that her mother needed her.
Meanwhile the pretty form of Gladys, mounted on Pansy—she nearly always rode Pansy—with a groom following on another horse, became a familiar sight at Woodham; for she loved the slight sensation she created when she rode down the High Street. Not seldom she returned from her ride accompanied by Guy, who was ever on the watch for a chance of meeting her. It vexed Mrs. Stanton to see her return so escorted; but if she gave expression to her annoyance, Gladys only laughed and told her mother not to be afraid, she knew what she was about.
"I do not think I am exactly the one to wed a country bumpkin," she said one day. "It would be different, would it not, mamma, if he had been the heir to Wyndham?"
It was an aimless shaft of satire, but it found a mark of which she little guessed. Her mother's face blanched; a spasm as of positive pain passed over it. Gladys saw and wondered. What had she said? Surely nothing worse than many of her careless speeches?
"It is not fair to call Guy a bumpkin," said Aldyth, who was present.
"Perhaps not," replied Gladys; "but he is a farmer, is he not? Can you fancy me a farmer's wife, with my sleeves turned up, making butter?"
"No, I cannot," said Aldyth, and laughed—it was impossible to take Gladys seriously—"but I do not think Guy will expect his wife to make the butter; there are few farmers wives who do that nowadays."
Mrs. Stanton breathed more freely as she heard their light talk. Had she betrayed herself? No, they could never suspect it; but the terrible pressure of her secret! At times it was insupportable.