“What can you mean?” said Philippa, stopping short on her way; but Dorcas only shook her head and smiled.
“Philippa already! How nice!” were the words that greeted her as she opened the drawing-room door. “Darling, how well you’re looking!”—and—“Evey, dear, ring for tea at once, the poor child must be famishing,” from her mother.
Certainly there could be no two opinions as to the warmth of the young girl’s welcome home.
“It is nice to be back again,” said Philippa, throwing herself on to a low chair beside her mother, “and with such lots to tell you. They have all been so kind, and I have so enjoyed it; but, by-the-by, before I begin, what does Dorcas mean by her mysterious hints about some news I had to hear?”
“Dorcas is an old goose,” said Mrs Headfort, “and a sieve as well. I wouldn’t have told her anything about it, except that I had to consult her. It’s nothing so very tremendous after all—only that I’ve got an invitation to Wyverston—a very cordial one;” the last words impressively.
Philippa’s brown eyes opened to their widest.
“An invitation to Wyverston,” she repeated; “really? How wonderful! Not very tremendous you call it Evey; I think it’s wonderful—past words.”
“It does seem so, certainly,” said Mrs Raynsworth quietly, “and, of course, it may mean—well, everything almost for Duke’s future, for”—
“Oh, and”— began Mrs Headfort, “this is the point of it—his uncle had first written to Duke about their wish to see me, and I got Duke’s letter telling about it just two posts before the invitation itself.”
“And what does he say?” said Philippa. “Of course you must go! Dear me, how exciting it is! Why didn’t you write to tell me at once? I would have hurried home to talk it over. You’ll have a lot to do, won’t you?”