By this time Lady Tonbridge had carried her visitor into the garden, and they were walking up and down among the late September flowers. Beyond the garden lay green fields and hedgerows; beyond the fields rose the line of wooded hill, and, embedded in trees, the grey and gabled front of Monk Lawrence.
Winnington reported the very meagre promise he had been able to get out of his ward and her companion.
"The comfort is," said Lady Tonbridge, "that this is a sane neighbourhood—comparatively. They won't get much support. Oh, I don't know though—" she added quickly. "There's that man—Mr. Lathrop, Paul Lathrop—who took Wood Cottage last year—a queer fish, by all accounts. I'm told he's written the most violent things backing up the militants generally. However, his own story has put him out of Court."
"His own story?" said Winnington, with a puzzled look.
"Don't be so innocent!" laughed Lady Tonbridge, rather impatiently. "I always tell you you don't give half place enough in life to gossip-'human nature's daily food.' I knew all about him a week after he arrived. However, I don't propose to save you trouble, Mr. Guardian! Go and look up a certain divorce case, with Mr. Lathrop's name in it, some time last year—if you want to know. That's enough for that."
But Winnington interrupted her, with a disturbed look. "I happened to meet that very man you are speaking of—yesterday—in the Abbey drive, going to call."
Lady Tonbridge shrugged her shoulders.
"There you see their freemasonry. I don't suppose they approve his morals—but he supports their politics. You won't be able to banish him!—Well, so the child is lovely? and interesting?"
Winnington assented warmly.
"But determined to make herself a nuisance to you? Hm! Mr. Mark—dear
Mr. Mark—don't fall in love with her!"