“So glad we are to see you on Thursday evening,” she said, over her shoulder. “Good-bye, Mr. Deane. Good afternoon, Emma. Let me know how William is, please.”
The farewells of Andy and Elizabeth were somehow merged in the salutations of Mrs. Atterton, and the responses of Mrs. Petch, but they looked at each other just as the carriage went off with a direct glance which held more than either of them could yet understand of young hope and joy and question.
“What was it?” that look said. They didn’t know—they didn’t know—only something glorious!
Andy stood staring after the carriage until at last Mrs. Petch’s voice from behind penetrated his understanding.
“Cars are all very well,” she said, “but there is a something about a carriage and pair—however, they own motor-cars—it isn’t that.”
Andy understood that the wealth and standing of the Atterton family were being defended, and replied at once—
“Of course. All the same, I can’t understand when you have a Limousine——”
“Mrs. Atterton’s back won’t stand motor-cars,” said Mrs. Petch gravely, but if so perfectly behaved a gardener’s wife could have ever winked, Andy would have said she winked then. However, he felt the light must have dazzled his eyes.
“Quite so,” he said. “It is a great affliction.”
“Yes, sir. It is, indeed,” responded Mrs. Petch at once. “Everything in life, as you may say, and yet a back to spoil it all.”