"Slowly! We seem to me to be skimming over the ground!"
"Ah, but that's because you are not so anxious as I to get there!"
Laline glanced shyly up at him, and her heart began to suddenly beat quicker. She had never yet been made love to in her life, but she felt certain that Wallace was counting the moments until he could claim the kiss out of which Clare Cavan's sudden entrance had defrauded him on the preceding Wednesday. For the first time it became strongly borne in upon her mind that she was doing something altogether startling and unconventional in thus accompanying a young man, against whose character very serious accusations had been made, to his country-house without the necessary sacrifice to Mrs. Grundy provided by the presence of a chaperon. But, after all, was she not engaged to him, with his uncle's full sanction—and was he not by law her natural guardian and protector, being in very truth her husband?
Looking at him under the bright, clear light of a frosty winter sun, Laline could see in Wallace's face no signs at all of the vices and follies attributed to him. The study of his features, on the other hand, filled her with a secret delight and pride of possession which thrilled through her entire being. This was essentially a manly man, handsome, erect, full of life, strength, and vigour—a man whose mere outward appearance attracted long and admiring glances from women of all ranks as he drove along, and whose driving and perfectly neat and smart turn-out drew towards him looks of approbation from masculine equals and inferiors alike. And he was not only her husband, but in love with her—a man wealthy, popular, and much sought after, who had gone out of his way to implore her, a little penniless dependant, to be his wife.
They were driving up a steep hill by this time, not far from Hampstead Heath.
"That is the Homestead," Wallace said, indicating with his whip the tall stacks of chimneys of a large white house peering from among trees near the summit of the hill.
Laline felt glad of both Wallace's and Mrs. Vandeleur's recent additions to her wardrobe as she drove in the dog-cart through the lodge-gates of the Homestead. Clearly the rumour that the young master was bringing down his future bride had spread abroad, for the lodge-keeper came out to pull his forelock and smile, with his wife curtseying and smiling behind him.
At the house—a big rambling erection, decked with ivy and creepers, and wearing an air of homelike comfort—Mrs. Sylvester, a plump, middle-aged, gray-haired woman, came out in an evident flutter of excitement and her best silk dress and cape to welcome the visitors.
Mrs. Sylvester wanted nothing better than for the young master to marry and instal himself at the Homestead, to impart a little liveliness to the establishment, and prevent it from being let to strangers, and she was delighted with the appearance of Mr. Armstrong's fiancée.
"Quite the lady!" she confided afterwards to the cook, in discussing Laline's appearance. "As handsome as you may wish to see, though p'raps a bit too thin for some people's tastes; but that only makes her more elegant. A sweet face, cook, and dressed in the height of fashion. That sable collarette she was wearing must have cost thirty or forty pounds; and her black velvet hat and cape were quite the latest fashion. For my part, I like a young lady with some style about her."