“Mr. Wadhurst is here, ma’am—says his business is important. I told him that you were not at home to anyone in the morning unless by appointment; but he said it was very important—in fact that he must see you, ma’am. I did my best to put him off—-I did indeed, ma’am; it was no use. He’s not easy put off. So I said I would see if you would. If not, ma’am, I’ll——-”
“Certainly I’ll see Mr. Wadhurst,” said Mrs. Wingfield when the butler had murmured his explanations to her. “Ask him to be good enough to come on the terrace. Draw that cane chair closer.”
“Very good, ma’am,” said the butler, retiring with dignity and leaving the lady to wonder what Farmer Wadhurst could possibly want with her at that hour of the morning. She had never seen Farmer Wadhurst.
She saw him now. A large man with big bones, a slight stoop and a suggestion of Saxon sandiness about his hair and beard.
She rose to greet him, and the butler once more retired.
“I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Wadhurst,” she said. “I think it is very likely that, if you had not come here to me, I should have ventured to pay you a visit.”
“What, have you heard something?” he asked eagerly.
“Heard something? Well, nothing more than your daughter told me, Mr. Wadhurst,” she replied. “But, surely, if my son and your daughter have made up their minds, you and I should not turn cold shoulders to them. Priscilla, I know, feels deeply your——”
“Where’s your son to-day, ma’am?” cried Farmer Wadhurst, interrupting the gracious words of the lady. “Where is he to-day, and where has he been for the past fortnight?”
“He has been in several places,” she replied. “He went to look after an agent—Mr. Dunning has left us—it was very awkward—first to Buckinghamshire, then to Lincoln. I got a letter from him yesterday from Sandy-cliffe; he is having some yachting—a week of yachting. I fancy he saw his chance now that Priscilla is visiting her friend. I don’t think he would have been so ready if she——”