It was late in the evening when Clodagh arrived; and the old Elizabethan house, with its many windows of thick, small-paned glass and its fine oak-raftered hall, filled her with delight. After she had been greeted by Lady Diana, and introduced to Mr. Tuffnell—a typical, kindly English squire, who invariably went his own way straightly and was content to assume that others did the same—she passed up the shallow staircase and entered the room that had been allotted to her, with a sense of something nearer to happiness than she had known for months. In the whole air of the house and its inmates there was a suggestion of restfulness, of friendliness, of sincerity to which she had been long a stranger. Unconsciously she warmed and softened under the homelike atmosphere. And when, a quarter of an hour later, Simonetta came softly into the bright, chintz-hung bedroom, she found her mistress busily unpacking her writing-case and sorting her letters at an old-fashioned oak writing-table.
That night the two visitors—who had preceded the other members of the house party by a day—dined alone with their host and hostess.
They were a very small party for the great dining-hall; but Clodagh was conscious that at many a crowded restaurant she would have been less well amused. There was a feeling of sincerity in the atmosphere, an honest desire on the part of the entertainers to put their guest at her ease, that precluded dulness and artificiality.
After dinner, Lady Frances wandered off to the billiard-room with her brother-in-law, and Clodagh followed her hostess into the drawing-room—a long, tapestried room full of the scent of roses.
The lamps were lighting when they entered; but the windows were set wide open, admitting the fragrance of the garden. Involuntarily Clodagh crossed the room, and paused beside one of these broad windows.
A moment later her hostess followed her.
"Well, Mrs. Milbanke," she said, "what do you think of England? Isn't it a place to be happy in?" She spoke with something of the strength and domination of her sister; but it was a softened strength, as her face, although possessing the same bold outline as Lady Frances's, was softer, gentler, more sympathetic.
Clodagh turned and looked at her.
"I think it is a place to be content in," she said after a moment's pause.
Lady Diana Tuirnell's glance rested upon her interestedly. And, as the thought of her youth and her mourning rose to her mind, something like pity touched her face.