Aylmer planned excursions, hunted up information about places of interest, and made himself essential to the happiness of each and all. They rode, drove, boated, or sometimes spent lazy days, contented to enjoy the beauty of sea and sky, to drink in the health-giving air, and to feel that life alone was bliss amidst such fair surroundings.
The months passed all too quickly, and the party returned much better for the change, and bringing home pleasant memories. Ralph had endless tales to tell Sarah, and she delighted to listen, and still more to repeat them with variations—mostly as to names of places, in which she was apt to get sadly mixed. She was intensely grateful for the kindness shown to Ralph, and commented on his improved behaviour.
"I do say that Master Ralph is no trouble to speak of now, to what he used to be. No bad words, or playing tricks, or tearing his things for mischief, so as I might have to mend 'em, if I'd vexed him about anything. I used to be frightened of him breaking out at the Hall, and making the ladies so as they wouldn't have him any more; and it's just wonderful he never did. They've made a little gentleman of him amongst them, and Mr. Matheson has had more than a finger in that."
"The master always stood out that his boy was a real little gentleman before, but that was when he had his company manners on. He wears them regular now, and it's to be hoped he'll forget most of what he learned from that set that used to come here, and the servants they brought with them. I'm fond of the master, and I'm sorry for him in a way, now he's fixed as he is. But I'm not sure but what it's worth while for him to be short of money now and again, if it keeps the old set out of Hollingsby or Monk's How, any way."
Sarah guessed how matters stood to a certain extent, but did not know all.
If John Torrance had not been grateful to Aylmer Matheson, as well as to Miss Mountford, he would have been heartless indeed. He could not help knowing, through Ralph's letters, of the part he had taken in caring for the boy; but he always came to the conclusion—"For Ralph's sake I must win Kathleen. She would be a model mother to the lad, for she loves him, and he almost worships her. And afterwards I hope that Matheson and Miss Ellicott will make a match of it; and we shall be the best of neighbours, and form a sort of happy family."
Little has been told about Geraldine Ellicott. Hers was no sensational life or character, but one of quiet good-doing. At home and abroad alike she was ever on the look-out for an opportunity of making some one the happier even for a temporary sojourn near them.
At St. Leonards Geraldine had conferred a permanent benefit on a poor but gifted girl, whom she first saw on a concert platform, and whose dress, in the worst possible taste, had drawn forth most unflattering comments from the audience.
We all know how shimmering satins, costly lace, and the glitter of diamonds, together with a self-confident manner, bespeak the favour of an audience, especially when accompanied by good looks, even though the latter would ill bear a close inspection, because owing more to art than nature.
The young singer had none of these. Her dress was of some cheap yellow material, ill-fitting, and manifestly home-made. The wearer was miserably conscious of the contrast between her own appearance and that of another singer, though, doubtless, she had been proud enough of the work of her hands before it was tested by comparison with the town-made dress.