“No, no; I am quite sure of that, my old friend.” As she spoke she heard the crunching of gravel outside. “Who is this?”
“Mr. Grimshaw,” answered John.
“You can ask him what he thinks,” murmured Agatha, sensible that she and her John had exhausted their munitions.
“I will ask him,” said Lady Selina.
CHAPTER X
UNDER THE VILLAGE TREE
I
Grimshaw had quite lost his look of wear and tear when he re-entered Farleigh’s cottage. Love, we may presume, is omnipotent even over the ravages of malaria. Vitality expressed itself in his eyes and in every movement of his athletic body. He had just visited Isaac Burble; and he knew—humanly speaking—that he had pulled through the plucky old man. He believed, also, that he could restore Mary to the arms of the pessimistic Timothy. In short, his fighting instincts were agreeably quickened. The man’s mind had become triumphant. Perhaps his dominant thought was the conviction that if he could win for his own a girl as sweet as Cicely, he could win also her mother. Cicely had imposed this task upon him. To “make good” in her eyes became the object paramount.
At the first glance round the kitchen he suspected nothing amiss, simply because his vision was slightly blurred by Cupid. He beheld Lady Selina, possibly for the first time, as the mother of his beloved rather than the lady of an ill-administered manor. And in her eyes he seemed to perceive a sort of appeal, which, of course, was there, although Lady Selina would have repudiated the fact had she been aware of it. Cicely’s word “forlorn” obtruded itself. She looked exactly what she felt at the moment—solitary and practically aloof, a fine survival of a doomed aristocracy.
She greeted him courteously. Nicodemus stumped out. Agatha and John remained. After speaking to them, Grimshaw was crossing the kitchen when Lady Selina lifted her hand and voice:
“One moment, Mr. Grimshaw.”