So she was carried swiftly towards Wimbledon, and had soon left the hot bricks and mortar behind her, and was revelling in the sight of green hedges and stretches of common.
‘How fresh and sweet it all seems,’ she thought; ‘but not half so fresh and sweet as round Usk and by dear Panty-cuckoo Farm. How luscious the honeysuckle used to smell, that trailed over the porch by the side door. And how thickly it grew. I used to tear off the blossoms by thousands to suck their petals. And the apple orchard, it was a mass of white and pink flowers in spring, like a bridal bouquet. They must have all fallen by this time, and left the little green apples in their stead. What a thief I was in my early days. I can remember lanky Hugh Owen catching me robbing Mr Potter’s plum tree, and the long-winded lecture he gave me on the rights of meum and tuum. I wonder if the sermons he preaches now are as prosy and as long. If so, I pity his congregation. He was always so terribly in earnest. What would he say if he knew all about me now?’
And here Miss Llewellyn’s thoughts took a rather melancholy turn, and she sat in the carriage with folded arms, hardly noticing the rural scenes through which she was passing, as her memory went back to her girlhood’s days and her girlhood’s companions. She did not notice the time either, until a church clock struck two, and reminded her that she had had no luncheon. She gave the order for home then, but it was nearly three before she reached Grosvenor Square, and the first words the footman, who opened the door to her, said, were to the effect that Mr Portland was waiting for her in the drawing-room. Nell started. She had entirely forgotten the appointment of the day before.
‘In the drawing-room, did you say?’ she ejaculated. ‘I will go to him at once.’
‘Luncheon is on the table, madam,’ added the servant; ‘shall I tell them to take it downstairs till you are ready?’
‘It is not worth while,’ replied Miss Llewellyn, ‘I shall only be a few minutes.’
She walked straight up to the drawing-room as she spoke, throwing the hat she had worn on a side table as she entered.
‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Portland,’ she said as he held out his hand to her, ‘but I have been for a country drive, and quite forgot the time.’
‘That is a very cruel speech, Miss Llewellyn,’ remonstrated her visitor; ‘and when I have been counting the moments till we should meet.’
Jack Portland was always a ‘horsey’ looking man, and it struck Nell that to-day he seemed more horsey than usual. By birth, he was a gentleman; but, like many other gentlemen by birth, he had degraded himself by a life of dissipation, till he had lost nearly all claim to the title. His features, good enough in themselves, were swollen and bloated by indulgence in drink; his manners were forward and repulsive; he had lost all respect for women, and only regarded them as expensive animals who cost, as a rule, much more than they were worth. To Nell he had always been most offensive, not in words, but looks and manners, and she was only decently civil to him for the earl’s sake. Now, as he seemed disposed to approach her side, she got further and further away from him, till she had reached a sofa at the other end of the room. Mr Portland was ‘got-up’ in the flashiest style, but was evidently nervous, though she could not imagine why. His suit was cut in the latest racing fashion, and he wore an enormous ‘buttonhole.’ But his florid face was more flushed than usual, and he kept fidgeting with his watch chain in a curious manner. At last he found his tongue.