'Not but that they were nearly ready,' said Miss Clotilda, as she led the way; 'we were looking for you to-morrow without fail. But it was all my fault for saying I would expect you on Thursday if I did not hear to the contrary. I should have asked you to write again.'
'But I did write,' cried Neville. 'I wrote at once, and sent on the letter to Kathie to post. You should have had it yesterday morning.'
'Yes,' said Kathie, 'I—I gave it to Miss Fraser with my note to Neville, saying, that I could be ready on Wednesday. You got my note, of course, Neville. And I—yes, I am sure I gave the one for Aunt Clotilda to be posted at the same time.'
But Aunt Clotilda had never got it. So, she, at any rate, was undeserving of all the blame Kathleen had been heaping upon her in the last few hours.
'It must be that careless old John Parry,' said Miss Clotilda. 'I must speak to him in the morning. No doubt he will be bringing the letter, and say it had been overlooked or something. And, my dear children, you must forgive all deficiencies. I had arranged all so nicely. Our neighbour, Mr. Mortimer, was to lend me his covered waggonette to go to meet you in. It is too provoking!'
There were no deficiencies, however, so far, that the children were conscious of, excepting the want of their luggage. Their rooms were charming—so quaint and country-like, with a pleasant odour of lavender and dried rose leaves pervading everything. And Miss Clotilda got out her keys and opened an old wardrobe in Kathie's room, whence she chose a little nightdress of the finest material trimmed with 'real' lace, which Martha aired at the kitchen fire by way of precaution against damp, though the whole house was so dry, she assured them, that such care was really not necessary.
'It is one of Mrs. Wynne's—one of a set that she never wore,' explained Miss Clotilda, 'and it will be just about right for you, Kathie dear, for, tall as you are, you will have to grow some inches yet to be up to me. Mrs. Wynne was quite one of the old school; she had linen enough laid by to have lasted her another twenty years. And Mr. Wynne-Carr wishes all such things to be considered mine,' she added, with a little sigh, 'so I am free to give you the use of it, you see.'
This was the first allusion to the great disappointment. Tired as she was, Kathie could not help thinking of it as she was falling asleep. And her dreams were haunted by fancies about the lost will—it turned up in all sorts of places. The queerest dream of all was that she found it boiling in the pan in which Martha had heated the milk!