She abruptly left the room, closing the door after her.
“What a very queer look Susie Arbuthnot has on her face!” thought Mrs Fortescue. “I wonder if those people have made up their minds to shun me. If so, and if Major Reid means to continue to be as abominable as he has been this morning, I had better leave Langdale.”
As the last thought flashed through her mind Susie returned with the Colonel. They came in together, and the Colonel held a letter in his hand. He was somewhat shabby in his dress. He always was shabby in the house; but he never stooped in body, being a soldier; and he never stooped in mind, being a gentleman. He came forward quite simply, and held out his hand to Mrs Fortescue.
“How do you do? It is a beautiful day, is it not?”
Mrs Fortescue felt immensely relieved. The Colonel had evidently quite forgiven her. He was a nice man and—yes, she acknowledged it to herself—such a gentleman. Susie was very blunt; but the Colonel had exquisite manners when he liked, and he seemed to like now, for he invited Mrs Fortescue to take a warm seat near the fire and poked it up for her benefit. Then, turning his own back to it, he looked at her with a whimsical expression on his pleasant face.
“Susie tells me that you have been good enough to express regret with regard to Brenda and Florence Heathcote.”
“Oh, yes—yes!” said Mrs Fortescue, clasping her hands. “I am so sorry for them.”
“Well, there is no possible reason why you should not be relieved of any feeling of uneasiness with regard to my two young friends. Florence did not wish her letter to be kept a secret, did she, Susie?”
“No, father; quite the contrary,” said Susie. She had not returned to her marmalade. She was standing not far from her father, one of her hands resting on the mantelpiece.
“I have had a letter from Florence Heathcote this morning,” said the Colonel. “It was really written both to my daughter and myself.”