EVERY Saturday was a holiday for Felicia and her cousins, and the former was not expected at the Vicarage, but nevertheless she generally found her way there, if Molly did not call for her at the Priory; and Mrs. Pring was satisfied that the plan, which she herself had originated, of educating her niece with her daughters was answering well. Sometimes Doris and Molly took tea with Felicia at the Priory, and then the latter could not help remarking that her cousins were rather in awe of Uncle Guy, and seemed happier when they were out of his presence; they were never at their best before him, Doris in particular always showing to a disadvantage by being quieter and more reserved than usual.
The day following the one on which Felicia had spoken her mind to her uncle was a Saturday, and at the breakfast-table her grandfather asked her if she would care to drive with him that afternoon to T—, the nearest market down. Felicia assented delightedly, and long before the appointed hour she was ready, so as not to keep Mr. Renford waiting. Seated by her grandfather's side on the front seat of the high dog-cart, drawn by Sultan, a big brown horse, she was whirled along through narrow lanes, across which the hazel bushes, laden with ripening nuts, nearly met overhead, up hills and down dales, until, after a long spin on the high road, the town was reached. They stopped at several shops, out of which the shopkeepers hurried to take Mr. Renford's orders, and by-and-by drew up before a confectioner's, where they alighted, and went inside to have tea in a large room upstairs, whilst Sultan was left in charge of the groom, who walked him up and down the street.
Felicia was very quiet as she sipped her tea and ate her thin bread and butter and cake, for she was recalling some afternoons in London when her mother had taken her to a restaurant to tea, and how greatly she had enjoyed those occasions. And now, instead of her mother's pretty face, with its loving smile, on the other side of the little, marble-topped table, was the sunburnt countenance of her grandfather, with its firm though not unkindly features, and clear, blue eyes.
"Make a good tea, Felicia," he said; "the drive ought to have made you hungry. Did you ever have a meal in a place like this before?"
"Oh, yes, grandfather, when I was at school, but not lately—never in Bristol."
"Ah! I thought it was no novel experience to you. I remember the first time I brought Doris and Molly here, they were so taken up with watching the people at the other tables that they scarcely ate anything. One could tell at a glance that they were country-bred; but you keep your eyes from wandering."
Mr. Renford looked pleased. It astonished him often that this grandchild of his, whose mother had been a "nobody," as he had always considered her, should have such good manners; never once had he had occasion to complain of word or action of hers during the six weeks she had lived beneath his roof, and she had long since ceased to be shy or awkward in his presence.
"Your aunt and uncle are going to dine with me to-night," he proceeded, "so we must reach home fairly early. I wanted Guy to join us, but—" He paused and shrugged his shoulders.
"I wish he would," Felicia said earnestly, a faint colour rising to her cheeks as she recalled the words she had spoken to her uncle on the preceding night; "Aunt Mary says he spends a great deal too much time alone."
"Yes, brooding over his affliction, poor fellow. Still, I do think he has been brighter since your arrival, child; he likes you to be with him. I often wonder what you find to talk to him about. Have you finished your tea? Yes. Then we will go."