“Write Sinclair re Grantley.”
CHAPTER XIX
TRIX ON THE SCENE
“Tibby, angel, what’s the matter with Pia?”
Trix Devereux was sitting on the little rustic table beneath the lime trees, smoking a cigarette. Miss Tibbutt was sitting on the rustic seat, knitting some fine lace. The ball of knitting cotton was in a black satin bag on her lap.
Trix had arrived at Woodleigh the previous day, two days earlier than she had been expected. A telegram had preceded her appearance. It was a lengthy telegram, an explicit telegram. It set forth various facts in a manner entirely characteristic of Trix. Firstly, it announced her almost immediate arrival; secondly, it remarked on the extraordinary heat in London; and thirdly it stated quite clearly her own overwhelming and instant desire for the nice, fresh, cool, clean, country.
“Trix is coming to-day,” the Duchessa had said as she read it.
“How delightful!” Miss Tibbutt had replied instantly. And then, after a moment’s pause, “There will be plenty of food because Father Dormer is dining here to-night.”