Miss Grimshaw never had possessed a house of her own, but she was descended from long generations of careful housewives, and she had an instinct for what ought to be done. But she had also a clear brain that recognised the impossible when it came before her. To put Drumgool in order in twelve working hours, and with a handful of disorganised domestics, was impossible, and she recognised the fact.
So the carpets were to be left unbeaten, the pictures still hanging. Doolan had orders to light fires in the rooms every week, and to be sure to take care not to burn the house down.
At four o'clock, in a burst of sunset which lit up the heaving Atlantic, the rain-stricken land, and the great hills unveiled for a moment of clouds, Mr. Dashwood departed for the station. Andy and the horses had left at three.
"I'll have the bungalow jolly and comfortable for you," said Mr. Dashwood. "You'll be there day after to-morrow evening, if you stay in London for a few hours' rest. Send me a wire when you reach Euston. Well, good luck!"
"Good luck!" said Mr. French.
"Good-bye!" said the girl.
They watched the car driving down the avenue, the wheel-spokes flashing in the sunlight. Then they turned back into the house.
"To-morrow!" thought Miss Grimshaw, as she lay in bed that night listening to the rain that had resumed business and the ticking of the clock in the corridor making answer to the rain. "Oh, to-morrow!"
Then she fell to thinking. What was the matter with the two men? When she and they were gathered together they were as jolly as possible, but the instant she found herself alone with one of them, that one wilted—at least, became subdued, lost his sprightliness and gaiety. More than that, each, when alone with her, became, if the subject turned that way, the trumpeter of the other's praises. Yet when they were all together they would try as much as they could to outshine each other, Mr. French setting up his wit against Mr. Dashwood, Mr. Dashwood retaliating. Just as two male birds before a hen strut and spread their tails, so these two gentlemen would show off their mental feathers when together. Parted they drooped.
A bell-man could not have told her the fact that they had lost their hearts more plainly than intuition stated the fact when, all three together at afternoon tea, just before Mr. Dashwood's departure for the station, that young gentleman with a plate of toast in his hand, had dallied attendance upon her, while Mr. French had urged the dubious charm of crumpets. Yet, behold! on the departure of the younger man the elder had presumably found his heart again, and at supper had become almost tiresome in his almost fulsome praise of Dashwood.