Mrs. Waring’s eyes wandered to Gwen’s picture.
“I would like to stay,” she said, then suddenly she bent towards him and the pink deepened on her cheeks, “but I will go if you like.”
“I wish you to do just as you like yourself, love.”
He loosed his hand gently from her clasp and followed Mrs. Fellowes into the hall, his fingers twitching.
In an instant she was after him and making for her hat when Mrs. Fellowes caught her.
“Come to the door and see them off,” she remarked innocently, drawing her arm through her own.
When she had seen them off the premises, Mrs. Fellowes shut her guest up with the picture and went to dress, then she scurried her off to the village, where they spent a rather remarkable two hours.
Mrs. Fellowes’ companion was first discovered by an urchin who was making mud pies in a gutter. At the first shock of his find, he gave a whoop and turned a summersault back into the dust, then he uplifted himself and fled with the news, despatching scouts to right and left on his progress.
When the ladies reached the village they found it all agog, every door was full of faces, and the howls of scrubbing infancy arose from every yard.
Mrs. Waring looked shy and twitched a good deal, but on the whole she bore herself gallantly.