Bevil Goring sat silent; but these remarks sank deeply into his heart.
'Does Mrs. Trelawney approve of these arrangements?' asked Jerry, after a pause.
'I cannot say—but I should rather think not.'
'To me she seems to have been singularly unhappy in her short married life.'
'What makes you think so?'
'I scarcely know—but feel certain that I am right.'
'Now wouldn't you like very much to console her, Jerry?'
'You are the last man, Tony, in whom I would confide concerning the fair widow,' said Jerry, angrily; 'but there goes the bugle for parade, and, by Jove, our fellows are falling in!'
'When her hair is grey—if it ever becomes grey—and all her youth is gone, that woman will still be beautiful,' exclaimed Dalton, with enthusiasm.
Mrs. Trelawney was wont to drive over every other day when the weather was fine and take Alison—she knew the lonely life the girl led—away with her to afternoon tea, to lawn tennis at the Vicarage or elsewhere, or drive by Farnborough and Aldershot Camp. And, with reference to future points in our story, we may add that this sprightly lady resided at Chilcote Grange, a pretty modern villa about a mile distant from the mansion of Sir Ranald, whither she had recently come after a long sojourn abroad, or in the Channel Islands, as some said, for no one knew precisely about her antecedents.