PRESAGE OF STORM
Ottermouth Manor was a place of importance in the county, and was only let furnished because its noble owner possessed so many other seats in different parts of the kingdom that for the moment he had no use for it. It is a practical age, and no one is so highly placed that he cannot without loss of dignity turn the nimble sixpence. The genial peer who had recently inherited the Manor, together with most of the ground-rents of the surrounding district, was no exception to the rule, and he had no objection to having his great rambling mansion and its appurtenances "kept up" at some one else's expense.
The consequence was that Mr. Montague Maynard found himself housed for the summer almost en prince. Not that he was unaccustomed to luxury. Both in his splendid modern villa at Harborne, whence a thousand pound Mercedes car rushed him daily to his office in Birmingham, and at his London house in Park Lane, where he spent six weeks in the spring, he wanted for nothing that money can do for the assuagement of the sordid side of a commercial magnate's life. But at neither of those palatial abodes could he enjoy the sense of space, the glamour of feudal importance, and the pretence at majestic isolation which were included in the heavy rental he paid for the privilege of occupying Ottermouth Manor House.
It was approached on one side by a long carriage-drive under an avenue of ancient elms, and halfway up this Leslie Chermside saw three people advancing towards him—a rather incongruous trio. No need for him to look twice at the tall girl in the simple white blouse swinging along with the graceful vigour of youth a little behind the other two. The sight of her set his pulses beating, for it was Violet Maynard herself, and Leslie felt sick with remorse at the glad smile of recognition she gave him. The remaining pair in this strangely-assorted party consisted of a diminutive old lady severely dressed in black, and of a foreign-looking man wearing ragged blue cotton trousers, who slouched along barefooted, carrying over his shoulder a stick from which depended several strings of onions.
The old lady appeared to be driving the foreigner before her at the point of her sunshade, while Violet entered an occasional half-laughing protest against her proceedings.
Chermside raised his hat as he drew near, and with a torrent of abuse and a final prod of her sunshade, the owner of the latter abandoned the pursuit, the two ladies turning to walk back to the house with the invited guest.
"No wonder you are astonished at Aunt Sarah's behaviour, Mr. Chermside," said Violet gaily. "She has been frightening that poor French onion-seller out of his wits and warning him off the premises for some reason that I have been unable to prevail on her to disclose."
"I am quite sure that Miss Dymmock would be actuated by no reason but a good one," Chermside replied politely. "I will wager that she had received strong provocation, and that the castigation I was privileged to witness was thoroughly deserved."
The little old lady, who was rapidly regaining her temper, cast a grateful glance at the speaker. At the commencement of their as yet short acquaintance she had taken a genuine liking for the handsome young soldier, and she had the firmest faith in her intuitions. Miss Sarah Dymmock was a personage to be reckoned with in the Maynard household. The aunt of Violet's mother, Montague Maynard's late wife, she had brought the girl up from childhood, and had incidentally governed the screw manufacturer's establishment with a rod of iron. Having a large fortune in her own right, and being suspected of a carefully-veiled kindness, her many eccentricities were forgiven her by those who knew her best.
"That's right, Mr. Chermside; I like a man who can stick up for an ugly old woman," she chuckled. "It's a pity a gallant gentleman of your sort didn't come my way when I was a lass, for I might have been a great-grandmother, instead of only great-aunt, to an impudent chit of a girl who has no respect for age—and venerableness. Well, I am venerable, ain't I?" she added, stopping and stamping her foot at Violet's merry laugh.