Leonard strolled across the little quadrangular garden, and came in at the low door, as Mr. FitzJesse spoke.
"I thought I should find some of you here," he said; "where are the others?"
"Gone to the Kieve, most of them," answered Mrs. Torrington briskly. Her freshness contrasted cruelly with Mopsy's limp and exhausted condition. "At least I know your wife and de Cazalet were bent on going there. She had promised to show the waterfall. We were just debating whether we ought to wait tea for them."
"I wouldn't, if I were you," said Leonard. "No doubt they'll take their time."
He flung down his game-bag, took up his hat, whistled to his dogs, and went towards the door.
"Won't you stop and have some tea—just to keep us in countenance?" asked Mrs. Torrington.
"No, thanks. I'd rather have it later. I'll go and meet the others."
"If he ever intended to look after her it was certainly time he should begin," said the widow, when the door was shut upon her host. "Please ring again, Mr. FitzJesse. How slow these farm people are! Do they suppose we have come here to stare at cups and saucers?"