One person had noted the arrival of the letter. This was Miss Rawson. She welcomed it. This might bring matters to a climax, where she had failed to do so. If Rona's brother was coming to fetch her away, then surely Denzil would find out the nature of his own complaint, and take steps to prevent her departure.
She watched Veronica with some keenness, as she went to and fro, playing assistant hostess very prettily under Aunt Bee's directions, and seeing that everybody was comfortably seated in the various motors and traps, with rugs, cushions, and so on. Miss Rawson had slightly sprained her knee, and was in consequence unable to go that day's expedition. She stood in the hall superintending the departure.
Denzil was driving his own dogcart, and by a little gentle maneuvering, Myrtle Bentley had secured the seat beside him. This made him rather cross, though he knew quite well that Rona and he, in consideration of their guests, could not well drive down together. His face was moody as he sought for a missing whip among the contents of a stand in the hall.
His aunt's eyes twinkled. "I suppose," she very softly remarked, in a pensive way, "that it is, after all, a good thing that Rona will so soon be leaving us."
Denzil looked up with great suddenness. "What do you mean?" he demanded.
"Well, I conclude her brother will be coming for her very shortly. I saw she heard from him this morning, and he seems to be doing very well. I am glad she will have a home, for she could not well stay here after you are married, could she?" with a mischievous inclination of her head towards the open door, where, in the sunshine, sat the decorous Myrtle, in a somewhat starchy white washing frock.
"What do you mean?" repeated Denzil, vacantly, a second time, standing as if rooted to the spot.
Aunt Bee shrugged her expressive shoulders. "I have to consider the future, you know, dear boy. And if Rona decides upon a literary career in London, I think I shall go and share her one room. Good-by, and good luck!"
She laughed, in the teasing way that poor Denzil never understood.
He was as nearly rude to Miss Bentley on the drive down as he ever permitted himself to be to a lady. She described him to herself, with some ladylike resentment, as grumpy. He did not seem to think the day fine, nor the drive pleasant, nor to admire the lovely view of the river, which moved her to unusual warmth of expression.