“How do you do, Mrs Rendell? Good afternoon, Mr Talbot. I am one of the privileged few who have been told your secret, and I wish you every happiness, and dear Lilias also. I tell every engaged couple I meet that I hope they may only be as happy as I am. My dear children, don’t pull me to pieces; this is my very best dress! I’ll tell you all about it in a minute. I am so glad to have this opportunity of seeing you all together, for I was longing to come over. May I sit here? Well, then, to begin at the beginning...”
She put her card-case on her lap, and clasped her hands together in preparation, and the girls watched her with approving eyes, for Mrs Maitland was a most satisfactory story-teller. She began at the beginning—the very smallest possible beginning—instead of halfway through the narrative, as other grown-up people had a habit of doing, and went straight through to the end, noticing every detail, and describing it in racy, picturesque language.
“Well, we went up to the door and rang the bell. It is not an ordinary everyday bell, but a quaint, wrought-iron handle, hanging on a chain from a sort of signpost arrangement, and I could hear it pealing away in most melodious fashion inside the house. The curtain inside the glass panels of the door was caught slightly back, and I could get a peep into the vestibule. The oak has been left untouched, and there are palms on either side sunk into great pots of copper with snakes and dragons and all kinds of uncanny animals standing out in relief. I was still peering through when the inner door was thrown open, and the butler appeared, upon which I straightened myself at once, and tried to look stately and dignified. I had just one minute to take in the inner hall, so cannot tell you much about it, except that it is a perfect museum of wonderful and beautiful things—pieces of tapestry hung on the walls, carved oak cabinets full of curios, a figure of a knight in armour, and curious Eastern-looking lamps burning dimly in the distance; but the butler looked so very solemn and imposing that I dared not stare as much as I should have liked. ‘Is Mr Vanburgh at home?’ I asked; and he inclined his head in a gracious bow. ‘He is at home, madam, but is not receiving visitors.’ I drew out my cards, and said, ‘I am sorry to miss seeing him. I hope he is not more unwell than usual to-day?’ He bowed again, like a mechanical figure, and said, ‘Mr Vanburgh charges me to say, madam, that as he is unable to return visits, he must deprive himself of the pleasure of receiving them while in Waybourne.’ I never felt so small in my life. Dismissed on the doorstep, and sent away like a child! I don’t know how I looked, or what I said. My one idea was to get out of the man’s sight as quickly as possible; and the door had no sooner closed on him than I began dreading Kit’s disappointment. It was a most trying experience! Father has gone for a walk, and I came in to break the news to you!”
She looked appealingly at Kitty as she finished, and met a glance of blackest gloom. This was indeed a blow. Not only were there no Miss Vanburghs, but the only Vanburgh who was left refused to open his door to visitors!
“Piteous!” cried Chrissie; and Agatha struck her hands together in despair.
“There ought to be a law about it—a law to prevent hermits from buying the best houses in a neighbourhood. Does he mean to say that he will see nobody?” she cried. “Perhaps he didn’t know who you were, Mrs Maitland. He takes an interest in us, we know, for we have seen him staring across. Perhaps if he had known you belonged to Kitty, it might have been different. Mother, you will go all the same, won’t you? You won’t give up without trying?”
Mrs Rendell shrugged her shoulders.
“I am not particularly anxious to be turned away from the door, and I see no reason why I should be treated better than Mrs Maitland. The servant is evidently entrusted with a general message. I think the best thing will be to send father across on Saturday afternoon, to see if the rule applies to ladies only. If Mr Vanburgh really wants to be quiet, we can’t force ourselves upon him. I am sorry the Grange is not let to more interesting people, but we must make the best of it. It has evidently been chosen as a museum in which to store a collection of art treasures, and, after all, you must remember it is no more closed to us now than it has been for years past.”
“Dear me, no! We can live without the Grange, I hope. Let the poor old dear shut himself up if he likes. He will be the loser, not we!” cried Mrs Maitland, laughing. That was the worst of grown-up people! They were so aggravatingly reasonable and resigned!