"You are earlier than I expected you, my dear. I am glad," said the old lady, simply.
"Yes, father had to go off to Saxilton on business, and I thought you might like a chat—which means that I wanted one badly myself."
Then she and Griff began teasing each other, till Greta was likely to have the worst of it, and Mrs. Lomax interfered. And after awhile there came another rattling at the gate, followed by the scrunch of heavy boots on the gravel. Greta talked faster, without waiting for any one to answer her, and her cheeks were an honest crimson.
Gabriel Hirst, for once in a way, had come in a garb that was likely to advance his cause; though the accident of his taking Marshcotes Manor at the end of a long ride must not be set down to any cunning forethought on the preacher's part. He bungled less than usual as he came across the grass, and Griff smiled as he noted that his horseback humour was on him.
Presently Mrs. Lomax snared Griff into the house, on the pretext of talking over some business matters with him.
"Did you arrange this meeting, mother?" he asked, as he opened the parlour door for her.
"Didn't I tell you," she smiled, "that I have to find things to do nowadays?"
"I like the notion of your turning matchmaker. Pray, is this kind of meeting a regular occurrence?"
"I have very few luxuries, Griff.—Not that it is the least good in the world. Gabriel seems always to be falling between two stools. He can't work properly, because he is in love with the girl, and he won't speak out like a man, because he is not sure yet whether she is a temptation of the flesh or not. You men—you men! If only you understood what a true woman's love is worth."
"The lassie would have him—eh, mother?"