The house was in almost every respect a great contrast to Sir Robert’s residence, as altered by the taste of Lady Sarah. It was old, it was shabby, it was not in the best of repair. But there was some charm about it, as there always is about a house which has been lived in by refined people for two or three generations. It bore the stamp of its owners, and although these were not remarkable in any way, Lady Sarah with her brilliant beauty having indeed been regarded as a “sport” and a surprise to those who knew the stock from which she came, there was something pleasing in the atmosphere of the old place, something of dignity in the occupants of the house, something of beauty in the dwelling itself.
The river flowed within a hundred yards of the garden front of the house, and on the other side the ground sloped gently upwards, a smooth expanse of grass, dotted by well-grown trees.
In a low armchair near the large window of the largest drawing-room sat the Marchioness of Eridge, a tall, massive woman with grey hair and that look of vacuous and vague displeasure with things in general which results from lofty pretensions and the possession of means inadequate to maintain them.
Her two unmarried daughters, both older than Lady Sarah, and altogether lacking in their sister’s brilliant good looks, were working, the one with her knitting, the other with some sort of fancy work, at another window.
Lady Sarah, followed more sedately by Rhoda, came in like a whirlwind, and stirred the quiet ladies into something like life as if by magic.
“What, Philippa! Aileen! Both indoors! On a morning like this! How can you?”
Her mother smiled, the two other ladies looked up with a little flush of pleasure in their pale faces, as Rhoda was introduced to them, in a highly complimentary fashion, by Lady Sarah, who expatiated upon her goodness to Caryl, and incidentally mentioned that she was the heroine of the bicycle accident of ten years before.
There was great interest at this, and Rhoda saw curiosity in the three faces. But Lady Sarah skimmed lightly away from that subject and told of her own travels and of her future plans.
“I’m going over to the chrysanthemum show at Canterbury to-morrow,” she said. “And I want to know whether one of you would like to come too. Jack is coming to-night, and he will take us.”
Lady Eridge drew herself up.