And two days later found her at Uxley. She was not to stay at Hathercourt, the Rectory being just released from the hands of painters and decorators, and unfit for habitation, and Mrs Greville delighted to seize the chance of a visit from one of her old favourites.
The day before that fixed for Mary’s return to town Mrs Greville came into the drawing-room with a note in her hand.
“You have quite finished at Hathercourt, you are sure?” she said, “you don’t need to go over again?”
“Oh, no, thank you,” said Mary, “there is nothing more for me to do. I am quite at your disposal for the rest of my time. Is there anything you want to do this afternoon?”
“Nothing much—only to drive over to Romary,” said Mrs Greville. “I have a note from poor old Mrs Golding, saying that she would be so thankful to see me. She is really ill, and quite upset with the idea of leaving Romary. She has only just heard definitely from Mr Cheviott about it, as she kept hoping he would change his mind.”
“Shall I not be in the way if I come with you? I don’t in the least mind staying alone,” said Mary, diplomatically.
“Oh dear, no!” replied Mrs Greville, who had not perceived the slight shadow that had stolen across Mary’s face at the mention of Romary, “the fact is I want you, for the boy cannot come this afternoon, and I don’t like driving quite so far alone.”
Mary resigned herself with outside cheerfulness, but some inward misgiving.
“I would rather never have gone near Romary again,” she said to herself; “however, I need not go into the house, and it will be a sort of good-bye to the place, and with it a great deal besides.”
For of late she had grown less hopeful. Alys had written once again, and to this second letter Mary had replied. But that was months ago, and she had heard no more; and, though nothing could make her distrust Alys’s affection, she was beginning to fear that their gradually drifting apart was unavoidable.