A broad-shouldered figure appeared in the window, and a man's step crunched the gravel of the path which Lady Mary had crossed.
"For once I have escaped, you see," she said, without turning round. "They will not venture into the night air. Sometimes I think they will drive me mad—Isabella and Georgina."
"Mary!" cried a shrill voice from the drawing-room, "how can you be so imprudent! John, how can you allow her!"
John stepped back to the window. "It is very mild," he said. "Lady
Mary likes the air."
There was a note of authority in his tone which somehow impressed Lady Belstone, who withdrew, muttering to herself, into the warm lamplight of the drawing-room.
Perhaps the two old ladies were to be pitied, too, as they sat together, but forlorn, sincerely shocked and uneasy at their sister-in-law's behaviour.
"Dear Timothy not dead three months, and she sitting out there in the night air, as he would never have permitted, talking and laughing; yes, I actually hear her laughing—with John."
"There is no telling what she may do now," said Miss Crewys, gloomily.
"I declare it is a judgment, Georgina. Why did Timothy choose to trust a perfect stranger—even though John is a cousin—with the care of his wife and son, and his estate, rather than his own sisters?"
"It was a gentleman's work," said Miss Crewys.