CHAPTER XX.
THE CHURCH NEAR CAMELOT.
Celia opened her eyes to their widest extent a fortnight later, when Mrs. Treverton informed her that she was going to meet her husband, and that, after a few weeks’ holiday, they were coming home together for good.
‘For good,’ repeated Celia, drily, after which her eyes slowly resumed their normal state, and her lips drew themselves tightly together. ‘I am glad to hear that your existence as a married woman is about to assume a reasonable shape. Up to this time you have been as insoluble a mystery as that horrid creature, the Man in the Iron Mask; and, pray, may I be permitted to ask, without being considered offensive, where you are to meet the returning wanderer?’
‘At Plymouth,’ said Laura, who had received minute instructions from John as to what she was to say.
‘Why blush at the mention of Plymouth?’ asked Celia. ‘There is nothing improper in the name of Plymouth; nothing unfit for publication. I presume that, as Mr. Treverton arrives at Plymouth, he comes from some distant portion of the globe?’
‘He is coming from Buenos Ayres, where he had business that absolutely required his personal attention.’
‘What an extraordinary girl you are, Laura!’ ejaculated Celia, her eyes again widening.
‘Why extraordinary?’
‘Because you must have been perfectly aware that I, and I think I may go so far as to say all the inhabitants of Hazlehurst, have been bursting with curiosity about your husband for the last six months, and yet you could not have the good grace to enlighten us. If you had said he had gone to Buenos Ayres on business, we should have been satisfied.’