"I suppose I may at least claim shelter for the night in my daughter's house?" demanded Mrs. Mynors with a voice which shook with mortification.
"Well, ma'am, I don't hardly know where we could put you," was the meek reply. "The whole house is upset, for it is to be redecorated from top to bottom. I do really think, ma'am, that you would be more comfortable at the station hotel. We are all upside down, as you can see." She turned to the butler. "Hemming," said she, "wouldn't it be better if you was to pay the driver and let him go? Then we can give Mrs. Mynors a cup of tea, as I know Mrs. Gaunt would wish, and send her down to Derby in the car, to catch the late express to town. Wouldn't that be best, ma'am?" As Mrs. Mynors hesitated, she added: "There's but one room in the house fit for you to sit down in, and that is Mrs. Gaunt's boodwor. I have been so busy helping above stairs, I haven't had a minute yet to pack it up. This way, ma'am."
Feeling that opposition was useless, Mrs. Mynors picked her dainty way along the hall, while Hemming paid off the fly-driver and lifted the trunks into the entrance, out of the rain. Grover, as she went, kept up a running fire of information.
"A dark passage, ma'am, but you will see a great difference when the alterations are made. A window is to be knocked through here, and the bushes outside cleared away, and a bit of a Dutch garden put in, so Mrs. Gaunt tells me. This is her own room, ma'am, that Mr. Gaunt had done up for a surprise for her when she come home. She was pleased, too. I never see her so delighted, pretty dear."
Mrs. Mynors walked in. The last ray of sunshine slanted over the wide landscape without, and gilded the delicate colouring of the room. She stood there, noting every detail.
"I wish you could have seen her, ma'am, the night before they started off," purred Grover. "Lady St. Aukmund, she give a dinner-party in her honour, and Mr. Gaunt had had all the family jools re-set. She wore white satin, ma'am, and with the diamonds and all she did look a perfect picture. We heard afterwards as all the county was talking about her. Mr. Gaunt, it's pretty to see how proud he is of her. But it is but natural they should want to be by themselves a bit at first. Everybody is talking about Mr. Gaunt's courage, the way he went down the mine after that young Mr. Rosenberg! There! It was a fine deed, wasn't it, ma'am? Sit down, I will bring you some tea directly."
She left the room, and Virginia's mother, her mouth set in hard lines, stood gazing about her. She thought of Osbert as she first remembered him, in his impetuous youth. What magic wand had touched him now, raising up love and youth from their ashes? Was he indeed lavishing upon Virgie—Virgie, her little girl, her willing drudge, to whom she had deputed all disagreeable duties—the torrent of devotion which she might once have had?
Very sincerely at that moment did she repent her own inconstancy. Had she had the courage to stick to Osbert, her fidelity would have been rewarded quite soon. He was not as rich a man as Bernard had been when first they married—at least, she supposed not. Yet she knew that with him for a husband she would never have been suffered to dissipate a fortune. His strong hand would have been over her. She would have been governed instead of governing.
She stood in the window and turned her eyes upon the delicate statue of Love. Idly she read the inscription around its base. Then her eye caught a little brass plate affixed to the black marble shaft near the top.
O.G. V.O. JUNE 30th, 19—