“Ah, but in town you’re tempted to buy things; my feminine heart can’t resist a bargain. Now, here,” she ended triumphantly, “you can’t spend money, because there’s nothing to buy!”
Here John Bradfield struck into the conversation.
“Isn’t there, though? There are bargains to be had here as well as in town, as I have found to my cost.”
Maude smiled at this remark, having only frowned at her husband’s. And, of course, she remained unconvinced.
Mrs. Graham-Shute spent her own and her daughters’ afternoon in making a list of the houses they had seen, with their several defects and good qualities. The former consisted, not in imperfect drainage and “stuffy” bed-rooms, but in “reception rooms” too small for the entertainments by which she proposed to dazzle the neighbourhood.
Meanwhile, Donald, left to his own devices, tried hard to contrive an interview with Chris, who had, during the last day or two, avoided him with a persistency which nettled him exceedingly. During the last conversation he had had with her, she had reproached him with following her about at the suggestion of his mother. While greatly annoyed and offended by her perspicacity, it had not made him less anxious for the flirtation he had promised himself with such an “awfully pretty girl.” This being the last day of his stay at Wyngham Lodge, he felt that he must come to such an understanding with her as would pave the way for a welcome when he and his family should return to Wyngham for a permanent residence.
When, therefore, Donald saw Chris walking in the garden, he put on his hat and sauntered out there too. It was on the south side of the house that Chris was walking, and she appeared to be looking at nothing but the sea. As she drew near the east wing, however, she glanced up from time to time shyly at the windows. On hearing footsteps on the path behind her, she turned quickly, and flushed, with an unmistakable expression of disappointment, on coming face to face with Donald. He was taken aback; his vanity was wounded; and instead of addressing her as he had intended, he stepped aside for her to pass him, and followed the path she had been taking towards the east-end of the house. Angry and mortified, he went on as far as the enclosed portion of the grounds. And here, lying on the ground just within the locked gate, he saw an envelope lying on the damp grass. Stooping, and putting his hand through the wire fence, he found that the envelope was just within his reach. Drawing it through, he discovered that it contained a letter, that it was directed to “Miss Christina Abercarne,” and that it was too dry to have lain there long.
While he was turning the missive over in his hand, and looking about him, considering from what quarter the letter could have come, Chris bore down upon him with a crimson face and very bright eyes.
“That note is for me, is it not?” said she, as she managed to see the superscription.