Next morning she came down to the coffee-room, and was dismayed to find there Mr. Fisher.
“Good gracious me!” she exclaimed, “I thought you were at the ‘Woolpack’?”
“So I was; but as it seemed to offend you, and I could not think of annoying a lady, I went back when the performance was over, paid my account, and departed to another inn—the ‘Red Lion.’”
“This will never do!” gasped Mrs. Birdwood. “I shall leave immediately!”
She hastened to the station and took the train for Bandon; she would go to her aunt. The plum-pudding had preceded her; if she followed, it was but like a player of bowls, who delivers his ball and then runs after it.
Her aunt was pleased to see her, and asked what occasioned this visit. Mrs. Birdwood made the excuse that she wished to see her before Christmas, and that she had friends in Bandon she also desired to see. She had not visited them since her—she gulped—her marriage. “I dare say, auntie, I may remain here a few days.”
“Delighted, my dear, to see you; but you do not intend to remain long—because Christmas is at hand—the day after to-morrow—and of course you will be back for that?”
Mrs. Birdwood looked down, and did not answer. Next morning she went to see friends. About mid-day she returned, when she was encountered by her aunt in the passage. “My dear—dreadful news! Have you heard?”
“Heard—no. What?”
“It comes from Jemima’s mother, your maid-of-all-work as you took from here at my recommendation. She writ to her mother yesterday evening; and it is shocking—orful!”