Quite a number of them had come to see her off—Mrs. Martin Fraser, Louie Denis, Mrs. Mackintosh, Maggie Crowder, and those silly girls, the Dorringtons; and actually Tom Craddock—very short, very fat, very breathless—a little bit of a bounder, perhaps, but a man who served her husband with a quite pathetic devotion. Yes, of course, he’d come to say good-bye to James, so he didn’t count in quite the same way, but still it was nice of him.
“Oh! the papers! James, I must have papers! Oh! thank you, Mr. Craddock. What? Oh, I think, perhaps, the Lady’s Pictorial and the Queen—and oh! if you wouldn’t mind, the Daily Mail and the Mirror, and—oh! James has the Mail, so perhaps the Express would be better—and yes, just something for the girls—what do you say, Annie dear? The Girl’s Realm? Yes, please, the Girl’s Realm, Mr. Craddock, and the Girl’s Own Paper for Isabel. Rather a lot, isn’t it, Louie, but it’s such a long journey—hours and hours—and the girls get so restless.”
The ladies gathered in a little phalanx round the carriage window. They always felt this departure of Emmy Maradick’s; every year it was the same. Epsom wasn’t a bit the same place whilst she was away, and they really couldn’t see why she should go away at all. Epsom was at its very nicest in August, and that was the month of the year when she could be most useful. Everyone gave their tennis-parties then; and there were those charming little summer dances, and there was no garden in Epsom like the Maradicks’! Besides, they liked her for herself. Things always seemed to go so well when she was there, she had such a—what was the word?—a French phrase—savoire-vivre or savoir-faire—yes, it really was a pity.
“We shall miss you, dear.” This from Mrs. Mackintosh.
“That’s sweet of you, Katie darling. And I shall miss all of you, ever so much. And a hotel’s never the same thing, is it? And the garden’s just beginning to look lovely. You’ll go in, once or twice, won’t you, Louie, and see that things are all right? Of course they ought to be; but you never can tell, with quite a new gardener, too. I think he’s steady enough—at least, he had excellent testimonials, and James heard from Mr. Templeton, where he was before, you know, that he was quite a reliable man; but you know what it is when one’s away, how everything seems to go——Oh! no, it’s all right, Mr. Craddock, I don’t think it’s going just yet. Sit down, Annie dear, and don’t lean against the door.”
The ladies then passed before the door, one after another, delivered their little messages, and lined up on the other side. Thus Mrs. Mackintosh—
“Well, dear, I do hope you have the rippingest time. I’m sure you deserve it after that old bazaar—all the worry——”
And Mrs. Martin Fraser—
“Mind, a postcard, dear—when you get there—just a line. We shall all so want to know.”
And Louie Denis—