Mary Lynn was good-looking as ever, her wonderful grey eyes, as Miss Upton used to call them, were not a whit less beautiful; but the mirth of early days had given place to a calm, sad seriousness. It could be seen that some great sorrow had passed over her heart and left its traces there for ever. Just now, as she laid down a letter she had been reading, her face wore an especial air of sadness, somewhat of perplexity. Sir Francis entered.
"I have a letter from Netherleigh, Francis, from Alice Dalrymple," began Mary, after they had said good-morning. "Mrs. Dalrymple has met with an accident, and—but I will read you what she says," she broke off, taking up the letter.
"'Selina was driving mamma in a borrowed pony-chaise yesterday; the pony took fright at a passing caravan—a huge thing, Selina says, covered with brooms and baskets and shining tins—ran away, and overturned the chaise. Selina was not hurt, she never is; but mamma has received, it is feared, some internal injury. She asks if you will come down to her, dear Mary. Lose no time; you know how she values you!'"
"Selina was driving carelessly, I expect," observed Sir Francis.
"Of course I will go down. But it cannot be today, Francis?"
"Not very well," he answered, as he took his cup of coffee from her hand. "What should I do with the crowd, coming here tonight, without a hostess to receive them?"
For Sir Francis Netherleigh had bidden the great world to his house that evening. Such invitations from him were rare. This was the first he had given since his wife's departure and his mother's death.
"True," observed Mary, in answer. "And you also expect that gentleman and his wife, who are just home from India, to lunch here today. Then I will write to Alice, and tell her I cannot be with her until tomorrow. Her mother is not so ill, I trust, as to make a day's delay of moment. Perhaps you will go down with me, Francis?"
"If I can. I know I am wanted at Court Netherleigh."
"That is settled, then. And now tell me, will the Hopes also be here at luncheon?"