"Why, Greta, what a charming description! You quite make me long to see it."
"But it is not as charming as it really is; even strangers allow that Medlicott is a pretty village. It is true that Ivy Dene has not much of a garden—just a little patch of lawn and a mulberry tree and a flower-bed or two; but as I spent most of my time in the Grange garden that did not matter.
"Dear mother was always so unselfish. She would never let me stay at home with her. She thought it good for me to be with young people of my own age, and so Olive and Alwyn and I were always together. Olive was my friend, but I always looked upon Alwyn as a dear younger brother. He is not really much younger—only a few months—but I was always a little older than my age."
"He must have been very handsome," observed Olivia, and Greta coloured slightly.
"Yes; all the Gaythornes were handsome. Mr. Gaythorne himself was a fine, stately-looking man, only a little foreign and unusual in his dress. I was always a little afraid of him, and I never approved of the way he treated Alwyn. He had been over-indulged and petted in his boyhood, but later on his father thwarted him unnecessarily. He was always calling him to account for some foolish imprudence. And though his mother and Olive shielded him as much as possible, there were often sad scenes at the Grange. Mr. Gaythorne had set his heart on Alwyn's reading for the Bar. He thought he had sufficient money and influence to warrant the hope that his only son might eventually enter Parliament, but Alwyn had already secretly determined to be an artist. He detested his law studies and could not be induced to work, and spoilt all his father's plans.
"As I told you last night," finished Greta, "they were both to blame. But at the time I could not help taking Alwyn's part. He was not good to his father, and often lost his temper and said disrespectful things. But Mr. Gaythorne had no right to be so tyrannical.
"When my mother died father would not hear of our living at Ivy Dene. He said he hated the place, and we went to America for a year or two, and there I heard of Olive's death. Olive had told me in her letters of Alwyn's disappearance.
"'There has been an awful scene,' she wrote, 'poor dear mother has been so ill. Father thinks that Alwyn has done something very wrong, but of course neither mother nor I believe it for a moment, though it cannot be denied that appearances are terribly against him. Forgive me, dearest Greta, if I do not enlarge on this painful subject. We do not know what has become of Alwyn; but we think he has enlisted.'
"This was the last letter I received from Olive. Before many months had passed she died at Rome, and her mother did not long survive her."