“I don’t believe there’s much chance since you were there last week. Is there ever any change at Elmslie?”
“Oh, isn’t there!” he exclaimed, still radiant, and thinking of a change which had meant a good deal in his life. “But, come along; my mother’s expecting you, and you’ll be glad of tea. The cart has brought your things up from the station all right.”
Claudia’s welcome was warm. Only Mrs Hilton and Miss Baynes were in the drawing-room. Mrs Hilton, a large fair woman, whose mouth, habit and love of her son had kept in a smiling curve, but whose eyes were faded and weary, showered hospitalities upon the girl.
“My poor husband is a sad invalid, my dear, almost confined to his chair, and sadly crippled, but I hope that at dinner, perhaps—” She broke off vaguely, and Claudia was not long in discovering that Mrs Hilton’s sentences generally remained unfinished. So, probably, did her thoughts, but, as Philippa once said, her kindnesses never. “And how are our dear cousins? It was so good of them to spare you. I am only afraid, my dear, of your finding us— Well, at any rate, here is Ruth, who is always pleasant.”
And she smiled at Miss Baynes, who was handing Claudia her tea.
“Thank you very much,” said Claudia’s young clear voice; “but you must not think at all of me, because I shall be so busy all the time I am here with the work you are kind enough to entrust to me. And then I have my bicycle, which makes me quite independent.”
Mrs Hilton gazed at her, struggling with novel ideas.
“The work, my clear?” she said vaguely. “But you mustn’t talk of it as work. Harry said you were so clever in suggesting things, and, I am sure, if you can amuse yourself with our garden—but—”
Claudia was sitting up, frowning.
“Did not Mr Hilton explain that my profession was landscape gardening?” she said with dignity.