Suddenly Mrs. Guthrie fixed on her visitor the penetrating blue eyes which were so like those of her son, and which were indeed the only feature of her very handsome face she had transmitted to her only child.
“I think you know my son very well?” she observed suavely.
Rather to her own surprise, Mrs. Otway grew a little pink. “Yes,” she said. “Major Guthrie and I are very good friends. He has sometimes been most kind in giving me advice about my money matters.”
“Ah, well, he does that to a good many people. You’d be amused to know how often he’s asked to be trustee to a marriage settlement, and so on. But I’ve lately supposed, Mrs. Otway, that Alick has made a kind of—well, what shall I say?—a kind of sister of you. He seems so fond of your girl, too; he always has liked young people.”
“Yes, that’s very true,” said Mrs. Otway eagerly. “Major Guthrie has always been most kind to Rose.” And then she smiled happily, and added, as if to herself, “Most people are.”
Somehow this irritated the old lady. “I don’t want to pry into anybody’s secrets,” she said—“least of all, my son’s. But I should like to be so far frank with you as to ask you if Alick has ever talked to you of the Trepells?”
“The Trepells?” repeated Mrs. Otway slowly. “No, I don’t think so. But wait a moment—are they the people with whom he sometimes goes and stays in Sussex?”
“Yes; he stayed with them just after Christmas. Then he has talked to you of them?”
“I don’t think he’s ever exactly talked of them,” answered Mrs. Otway. She was trying to remember what it was that Major Guthrie had said. Wasn’t it something implying that he was going there to please his mother—that he would far rather stay at home? But she naturally did not put into words this vague recollection of what he had said about these—yes, these Trepells. “It’s an odd name, and yet it seems familiar to me,” she said hesitatingly.
“It’s familiar to you because they are the owners of the celebrated ‘Trepell’s Polish,’” said the old lady rather sharply. “But they’re exceedingly nice people. And it’s my impression that Alick is thinking very seriously of the elder daughter. There are only two daughters—nice, old-fashioned girls, brought up by a nice, old-fashioned mother. The mother was the younger daughter of Lord Dunsmuir, and the Dunsmuirs were friends of the Guthries—I mean of my husband’s people—since the year one. Their London house is in Grosvenor Square. When I call Maisie Trepell a girl, I do not mean that she is so very much younger than my son as to make the thought of such a marriage absurd. She is nearer thirty than twenty, and he is forty-six.”