But next day they turned up at Shenstone, earlier than usual.
And that morning, Lady Ingleby was feeling strangely restful and at peace; not with any expectations of future happiness; but resigned to the inevitable; and less apart from Jim Airth. She had fallen asleep the night before beset by haunting memories of Cornwall and of their climb up the cliff. At midnight she had awakened with a start, fancying herself on the ledge, and feeling that she was falling. But instantly Jim Airth’s arms seemed to enfold her; she felt herself drawn into safety; then that exquisite sense of strength and rest was hers once more.
So vivid had been the dream, that its effect remained with her when she rose. Thus she sat watching the tennis with a little smile of content on her sweet face.
“She is beginning to forget,” thought Ronnie, exultant. “My ’vantage!” he shouted significantly to Billy, over the net.
“Deuce!” responded Billy, smashing down the ball with unnecessary violence.
“No!” cried Ronnie. “Outside, my boy! Game and a ‘love’ set to me!”
“Stay to lunch, boys,” said Lady Ingleby, as the gong sounded; and they all three went gaily into the house.
As they passed through the hall afterwards, their motor stood at the door; so they bade her good-bye, and turned to find their rackets.
At that moment they heard the sharp ting of a bicycle bell. A boy had ridden up with a telegram. Groatley, waiting to see them off, took it; picked up a silver salver from the hall table, and followed Lady Ingleby to her sitting-room.
There seemed so sudden a silence in the house, that Ronald and Billy with one accord stood listening.