“Yes, George has gone,” said Nance. She had forgotten all about Jacob, to whose presence she had become quite accustomed, but at her husband’s words a great flush of colour rose to her cheeks.
“George went for a silly reason,” she said; “he was quite nervous about the plate. This man has come in his stead—he seems a good servant.”
“Doubtless, dearest,” said Rowton. “Now let us go into the house. I must send to the station for my luggage, and you had better scribble a line to Lady Georgina. Tell her the prodigal has returned, and that to-night we kill the fatted calf.”
Nance laughed a laugh of pure pleasure. The note was despatched, and a messenger sent for Rowton’s luggage; after which the pair had lunch together and then went out into the grounds.
The day was a spring one, warm and balmy; crocuses and snowdrops bloomed gaily in the garden; the trees were putting out their first spring buds.
“Our good time is about to begin,” said Rowton, his arm round his wife’s waist as he spoke. “There is just a month from now to Easter. I presume all the neighbours have called on you, Nance?”
“I suppose so. There are shoals and shoals of cards,” she answered.
“We will look through them together—I know everybody. Have you returned the calls?”
“I think so. Lady Georgina was my guide into polite society—she went with me everywhere. We left your cards with mine.”
“Right. I knew you would make a splendid woman of the world. Have invitations come to us yet?”