"And your mother wanted badly to call upon Mrs. Wornock, and you always put a stumbling-block in her way. But I am happy to say Lady Emily is to have the white peacock all the same. She is to have a pair of birds. I have taken care of that."
"Like a good and thoughtful daughter."
When Allan came back from the station, after seeing his mother safely seated in the London train, he found a letter from Mrs. Wornock on the hall table—a hand-delivered letter which had just arrived. It was brief and to the point.
"Why have you deserted me, Allan? Have I unconsciously offended you, or is there no room in your heart for friendship as well as love? I hear of your happiness from Suzette; but I want to see you and your sweetheart roaming about the gardens here as in the old days, before you were engaged lovers. Now that Lady Emily is leaving Beechhurst, you will have time to spare for me."
The letter seemed a reproach, and he felt that he deserved to be reproached by her. How kind she had been, how sympathetic, how interested in his love-story; and what an ingrate he must appear in her eyes!
He did not wait for the following morning and the music-lesson, lest Mrs. Wornock should think he went to Discombe only on Suzette's account. He set out immediately after reading that reproachful little letter, and walked through the lanes and copses to the Manor House.
It was four o'clock when he arrived, and Mrs. Wornock was at home and alone. The swelling tones of that wonderful organ answered his question on the threshold. No beginner could play with that broad, strong touch, which gave grandeur to the simple phrases of an "Agnus Dei" by Palestrina.
She started up as Allan was announced, and went quickly to meet him, giving him both her hands.
"This is so good of you," she exclaimed.