As a matter of fact, I rather fancied I had caught a glimpse of Lady Enid going along the road towards Hammerton woods, and I think I was fairly correct in guessing that she was not walking at such a rapid pace for the pleasure of her own company. Indeed, I would not have minded taking long odds that Sir Cheveley was not very far away.
I, of course, said nothing of this to Lady Gascoyne, but mentioned my meeting with the girl in the gray hood.
Lady Gascoyne smiled.
“Now, isn’t she pretty, Mr. Rank?”
“Almost beautiful,” I hazarded. It is dangerous to be enthusiastic about another woman, even to the nicest of her sex.
“That shows your good taste. Some people cannot see it.”
“It is the sort of beauty which is very rare, and not exactly showy.”
“She is to my mind wonderful. It does one good to look at her. I expect you are wondering who the little boy is. It is a sad story. I had a great school friend whose father was enormously rich. About a year after her marriage he failed, and her husband’s fortune went in the same crash. Her husband shot himself, and she died six months later, leaving her little boy in my care. Oh!” she added quickly, evidently afraid that my inward comment might be a disparagement on her dead friend, “she did so at my express desire. We loved one another so, that it was the most natural thing she could do.”
“He seems a dear little chap.”
“He is a darling, and devoted to Hammerton already. Lord Gascoyne is so good about it, and lets me have him here always. Miss Lane is his governess.”