Mrs Derwent’s attitude was that of tacit expectation, as if waiting to hear the reason of his visit, so Archie’s preliminary remarks about the heat in London, and the refreshment of getting a day or two in the country, fell rather flat.
So at last he plunged abruptly into the only tangible explanation of his visit he could lay hold on.
“I have just been telling Miss Derwent,” he began, “that I met a very old friend of yours the other day at Cannes. He is an old friend of some of my people’s too—Sir Adam Nigel—who used long ago to live at Alderwood, you know.”
Mrs Derwent’s manner grew more cordial, and her face lighted up.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, “I am so glad to hear about him. He spoke of us—of me—then, to you?”
“Oh dear, yes,” said Archie, delighted at his success. “He asked me no end of questions about you, when he heard I had had the pleasure of meeting you. And he begged me to give you all kinds of messages, as I told him I was sure to see you again before long. I’m always turning up in this neighbourhood,” he went on, “though my own home is in another county, for my uncle Dunstan was my guardian, and they’ve been at Alderwood for fifteen years or so now. Mrs Lilford has never really settled there.”
“Dear me,” said Mrs Derwent, “that makes it seem still longer since it was almost like home to me,” and her face saddened again a little. “Did Sir Adam say nothing about coming over this year?” she added. “I had hoped to see him before this.”
“Mamma,” said Blanche gently, “Mr Dunstan tells us that Sir Adam had no idea of what has happened, or that we had left Pinnerton Lodge.”
“No indeed,” said Archie eagerly.
Mrs Derwent’s face cleared again.