“I want, please, first of all to drive to the post-office,” said Kitty to the boy.
He obeyed her. She jumped out of the little governess-cart and went in; there she bought six pennyworth of stamps and changed her five-pound note. She slipped the precious money into her pocket. She then desired Sam to drive her to the gates of Hillside.
“Stop at the gates, please,” she said, “I shall walk up the avenue.”
They arrived there in about three-quarters of an hour. Kitty got down.
“Shall I wait for you, miss?” asked the boy.
“I don’t know how long I will be,” said Kitty. “Yes, wait for one hour; if I am longer than that time, you can go away and say that I am staying to lunch at Mrs. Dodd’s, and that they’ll see me back in the afternoon. You will be sure to give that message, won’t you, Sam?”
“Yes, miss, thank you, miss,” said the boy. He turned the pony’s head and drove under a clump of trees, where he arranged to wait for Kitty.
Kitty now entered the long avenue. Hillside was rightly called; the house itself, perfectly modern, having been built by Mr. Dodd for his own convenience and according to his own ideas, stood upon the extreme rise of the hill. It had a lovely view of the surrounding country. As Kitty walked up this avenue, this avenue where she had so often gone riding, driving, walking with the Dodd girls, walking sometimes with her hand inside Daddy Dodd’s arm, laughing, chatting, merry, happy, a prime favourite, she now crept up slowly, as a culprit might. She reached the great house. She was thankful to see that there was no one about, her dread being at that moment to come across either Anne or Grace. She rang the front door-bell, and a man in livery threw open the door. He knew Kitty, of course, and welcomed her with that sort of half-smile which the well-bred servant alone permits himself to show.
“Do you want the young ladies, miss? I think they’re in the morning-room.”
“No, I particularly want to see Mr. Dodd.”