"I wish," he said, "that my father was not bringing so many of his City friends, I am afraid that his Lordship will not approve of them!"
"Your father surely has a right to bring whom he pleases to this house?"
"Yes, dear, but——"
"I wrote to him. I did not tell you at the time, I told him that all his friends were welcome here, Allan, if we can give him any little pleasure; could we deny it to him, after all that he has given to us and done for us? And, oh! I feel so humble when I think of him and his goodness. I remember what I used to think of him, what I used to permit myself to say of him, before I knew him as I know him now. I feel that I can never sufficiently make amends for that!"
All that evening she talked to him of the visitors who were coming. She herself had seen to Sir Josiah's room, she had arranged vases for the flowers that she would not cut until the morning, so that they should be fresh. It was a sense of duty rather than a feeling of love that caused her to put flowers in her own father's room too, for one thing she knew that he would not appreciate them. That night Allan lay wakeful. He thought of Betty and thought of her with a sense of shame, yet with a strange joy.
Why should it have been as it had? What meaning was behind it all? Was there a meaning that he would ever understand? He remembered what his father had told him of a Pringle—an Allan Pringle who had married a Betty, maid to the then mistress of the house. It had been a sad story, his father had said, the girl had died, poor Betty! He listened to Kathleen's sweet regular breathing, he lifted himself on his arm and watched her sleeping face in the moonlight that came in through the widely opened window.
How good she was, how white and pure she looked lying here in her sleep! He was strangely moved, his mind was filled with a great reverence for her, he bent to her, he touched her cheeks with his lips, so lightly as not to waken her, then he lay down again and slept.
No holiday maker ever set out for a day's pleasuring with keener anticipation than did Sir Josiah this bright September morning. He was to call for Cutler on the way. Coombe was driving his own car and would pick up Jobson, they were to meet at the Chequers at Horley, should they not happen on one another on the road.
There were a thousand and one things to remember, a dozen packages to stow away.
"Mind that there one, Bletsoe, my man, go lightly now!"