“Yes,” said Arthur, “I see.”
“How strange it all seems!” said Alys. “How well I remember meeting Mrs Brabazon in Paris last year, and how she cross-questioned me about the Westerns, at the time, you know, that Laurence was so prejudiced against them.”
“And you spoke up for them?”
“A little,” said Alys, blushing slightly, “I mean, as much as I could.”
“Good girl!” said Arthur, approvingly.
“And since then, you know, Laurence has quite changed. How could he help it? You have no idea of Mary’s goodness to me that time at your farm, Arthur, and knowing her showed what they all were, so single-minded and refined, and so well brought up though they have been so poor. You mustn’t mind, Arthur,—it is no disparagement to Lilias when I say I cannot help counting Mary my special friend.”
“And now I hope you will see her often,” said Arthur. “She would do you good.”
Alys shook her head.
“I know she would,” she said, “but she won’t come here.”
“Now she will,” said Arthur. “She can have no more of that exaggerated terror of being patronised, if that has been her motive. The county will all find out the Westerns’ delightful qualities now, you’ll see, Alys. By-the-bye, I wonder what made Mrs Brabazon write to Laurence.”