She was not so silly as not to know where the attraction of ‘The Towers’ lay!
Mrs. Rose’s lumbering old landau, which made such a contrast to Mrs. Dale’s smart victoria, had returned from the station, and as it drove slowly along the road past ‘The Towers,’ Mrs. Rose was just finishing to Mrs. Haybrow a long recital of her difficulties in connection with the doubtful new resident.
Mr. Rose had chosen to come back on foot, so his wife could pour out her tale without interruption or contradiction.
“There,” she cried below her breath, as they came close to the gates of ‘The Towers,’ “you will be able to see her. She is standing just inside the garden, calling to her little dog. Don’t you think that a little dog always looks rather—rather odd?”
Mrs. Haybrow thought that this was somewhat severe judgment, but she did not say so. She got a good view of the mysterious lady in black; for Mrs. Dale raised her golden head as the carriage passed, and she and Mrs. Rose exchanged a rather cool bow.
To the great surprise of her companion, Mrs. Haybrow fell suddenly into a state of intense excitement.
“Why, it’s Dolly Leatham, little Dolly Leatham!” she cried with evident delight. “The idea of my meeting her down here! I haven’t seen the child for years.”
“You know her then?” asked Mrs. Rose, in a tone which in relief was mingled with disappointment at the collapse of her own suspicions.
“I used to know her very well. She was the belle of that part of Yorkshire. The last I heard of her was that she was engaged to be married to some man who had a lot of money; and they said she was being hurried into it by her people rather against her will.”
“Well, she has managed to get rid of him,” said Mrs. Rose coldly. “You see she is in widow’s dress now.”