Mrs Derwent looked out of the window scrutinisingly.
“I think we must be nearly there,” she replied, “but I do not know this side of Blissmore nearly as well as our side. I am glad to see there is not so much building hereabouts. Oh yes,” as the fly rather suddenly turned down a lane, “I know where we are now; it is all coming back to me. This lane comes out on to Pinnerton Green. There is an old well in the centre, and five or six cottages, and the church, and a pretty little vicarage. I will shut my eyes, and you girls tell me if I am not right. The church stands right opposite the side of the green, where we come out—now, doesn’t it?”
Mrs Derwent was quite excited; the two girls scarcely less so. And as the fly emerged on to the opener ground, for a moment or two no one spoke. Then Blanche exclaimed, half hesitatingly:
“Yes, there is the church. A dear old church, just across the green, all covered with ivy. And the vicarage. But the cottages—where can they be? And mamma, there are ever so many big, or rather big houses, with gardens opening on to the green. Oh, you must open your eyes, dear. I can’t make it out.” Mrs Derwent did as she was told, and looked about her.
What a metamorphosis! There remained the church and the vicarage and the old well as landmarks certainly, but beyond these, everything was new.
The houses struck her herself less pleasantly than Blanche. They were of the essentially English modern “villa” class, a class really unknown in France, in old-world France especially. She gave a little gasp of surprise and disappointment, but without speaking. And the next moment she felt more than glad that she had not put her impression into words, when poor Stasy exclaimed brightly:
“Oh, what nice cheerful houses; so fresh and new looking. And what pretty, neat gardens. I do wonder which is Pinnerton Lodge! I feel quite happy again about living in England, mamma.”
Mrs Derwent smiled back at her, of course, though her own heart was going down a little. Blanche’s face expressed nothing but gentle and resigned expectancy.
They were not long left in doubt as to “which” was their destination. The fly, after some fumbling on the part of Messrs Otterson and Bewley’s clerk at a rusty padlock on the chain, which fastened a gate, turned in at a short but shady drive, and Pinnerton Lodge in another moment stood full before them.
Mrs Derwent’s heart went up again. And glancing at her, Blanche’s face too relaxed into less constrained, or restrained lines; her eyes brightened, and looked ready for a smile.