“What a delicious place!” she commented, as Ann established her in an easy chair. “I think I like it better than my Priory. You’ve some lovely bits of pewter up there”—nodding towards the tall old chimney-piece, where the tender moon-grey of ancient pewter mugs and dishes gleamed fitfully against the panelled wall.
“I’m afraid it isn’t ours,” acknowledged Ann regretfully. “Though I love every bit of it. My brother is agent for the Heronsmere estate, and we have this cottage furnished. Oh, here he is,” she added, as Robin entered the room.
She introduced him to Mrs. Hilyard, who smilingly accounted for her impromptu visit.
“I feel that I’m imposing on Miss Lovell’s good-nature in the most barefaced fashion,” she said apologetically. “But I honestly couldn’t resist the suggestion of a cup of tea.”
“I’m very glad you couldn’t,” replied Robin simply. And something in the tone of his voice, taken in conjunction with the serious directness of his regard, made of the short sentence more than a mere empty expression of politeness.
“I met Brian Tempest and his sister just now,” he went on, turning to Ann, “and asked them to come in to tea, so I expect they’ll be here directly.”
“Tempest? That’s the rector here, isn’t it?” asked Mrs. Hilyard, as Ann slipped out of the room to prepare Maria for the expected “company.”
Robin nodded.
“You’ve not met him yet?”
“I’ve met no one. So far, I’ve done nothing but wrestle with packing-cases and the distribution of furniture”—smiling.