CHAPTER XV.
THREE INTERVIEWS
The next day was a Sunday, and the Colonel went to church, wearing a hat-band four inches deep. Morris, however, declined to accompany him, saying that he had a letter to write to Mary; whereon his father, who at first was inclined to be vexed, replied that he could not be better employed, and that he was to give her his love. Then he asked if Miss Fregelius was coming, but somewhat to his disappointment, was informed that she wished to stay with her father.
“I wonder,” thought the Colonel to himself as he strolled to the church, now and again acknowledging greetings or stopping to chat with one of the villagers—“I wonder if they are going to have a little sacred music together in the chapel. If so, upon my soul, I should like to make the congregation. And that pious fellow Morris, too—the blameless Morris—to go philandering about in this fashion. I hope it won’t come to Mary’s ears; but if it does, luckily, with all her temper, she is a sensible woman, and knows that even Jove nods at times.”
After the service the Colonel spoke to various friends, accepted their condolences upon the death of Mr. Porson, and finally walked down the road with Eliza Layard.
“You must have found that all sorts of strange things have happened at the Abbey since you have been away, Colonel Monk,” she said presently in a sprightly voice.
“Well, yes; at least I don’t know. I understand that Morris has improved that blessed apparatus of his, and the new parson and his daughter have floated to our doors like driftwood. By the way, have you seen Miss Fregelius?”
“Seen her? Yes, I have seen her.”
“She is a wonderfully captivating girl, isn’t she? So unusual, with those great eyes of hers that seem to vary with the light——”
“Like a cat’s,” snapped Eliza.
“The light within—I was going to say.”