'It will make it far easier and less constrained for me,' she said, 'and considering everything it seems to me only natural.'
They had luncheon early, and set off immediately after. Less than half an hour's drive brought them to the picturesque little village, which was in fact scarcely more than a suburb of the town of Basse.
'Villa Malmaison' was the direction, and soon the coachman drew up at a gate opening on to the road, for there was no drive up to the house. The footman was preparing to enter, but when he came round for his instructions, Lady Myrtle stopped him.
'No,' she said, 'you can wait here. We will get out at once.—I have a fancy,' she said to Jacinth, 'for going straight up to the house without being announced.'
It was a small and simple place; a balcony ran round the ground floor, and there in a long chair—a deck chair—a gentleman was half lying, half sitting, for the day was mild, and the house had a south exposure. At the sound of their slow footsteps—for Lady Myrtle was feebler than of yore—he looked up, then rose courteously, and came forward to meet them. He was a tall thin man with gray hair, and with evident traces of delicate health and suffering upon him, and he walked lame. But his smile was both bright and sweet; his keen dark eyes not unlike Lady Myrtle's own.
'Can I'——he began, for the first instant's glance revealed to him that the new-comers were English, but a sort of exclamation from Lady Myrtle arrested him.
'Jacinth,' she had just whispered, and for a second she leant so heavily on the girl's arm that Jacinth feared she was going to faint, 'it must be he—my nephew—he is so, so wonderfully like my father.'
And before Jacinth could reply, the old lady straightened herself again, and drawing her arm away from her young guide, seemed to hurry forward with a little cry.
'Are you Reginald?' she said. 'My nephew? You must be. Oh Reginald, I am your old Aunt Myrtle.'
And then—all the plans and formalities were set at naught. The two tall figures enfolded each other in an embrace like that of an aged mother and a long absent son.