They turned in the direction of the house, parting at a point where the path divided in two. Keymer took the road to the right, which would bring him out close to the main entrance of Vale View. Ethel took the one to the left, and entered the house by way of the conservatory, going straight to her own room, where she remained alone, lost in a tangled maze of thoughts in which the past, the present, and the future were inextricably mixed up, till Tamsin knocked at her door, an hour later, and brought her word that her aunts would like to see her in the drawing-room.
“And there’s been a young man shut up with them for sixty minutes by the clock,” added the elder woman as she glanced shrewdly at the girl. “I fancy it’s young Mr. Keymer, the brewer’s son. I hope he’s not here on your account, honey. I had a good look at him when I took him in a cup of tea half an hour ago. (It’s Charlotte’s afternoon off, so I did the waiting myself.) He’s fair enough to look upon, but, oh I my dearie, he’s far too smooth-spoken for me—butter itself would hardly melt in his mouth: and why does he glance at you sideways out of the corners of his eyes when he thinks you’re not looking? A man not to be trusted, for all his pleasant tongue. Have heed to an old woman’s instinct, honey, and don’t you have anything to do with him.”
Ethel was too flustered to reply. She gave Tamsin a look which the latter was unable to interpret, and then ran quickly downstairs. She paused at the drawing-room door and pressed her hand to her side for a few seconds. Her heart was pulsating at railway speed. Tamsin’s words rang in her ears. “A man not to be trusted.” But she had trusted him and would trust him to the end! She drew herself up proudly, turned the handle of the door and went in.
It is to be borne in mind that the ladies of Vale View were already acquainted with young Keymer, they having met him at various social gatherings during the course of the last year or two. His good looks and debonnair manner had not failed to prepossess them in his favour, as they did nearly every one with whom he was brought in contact.
There was a small fire in the grate, for the spring evenings were still chilly, and Launce was standing by it with one elbow resting on the chimney-piece. Ethel’s eyes sought his face for a moment as she entered the room. One glance at it was enough to tell her that he had won the day.
Miss Matilda rose from her chair and met Ethel halfway across the room. Taking the girl’s head between her hands, she drew it forward and imprinted a tender kiss on the pure young brow.
“My love, we congratulate you,” she said simply, but her voice trembled, and the smile that accompanied her words was closely allied to tears.
“Can you ever forgive me for having kept it secret from you for four whole weeks?” demanded Ethel tremulously.
“My dear,” replied Miss Matilda, with a touch of stateliness, “Mr. Keymer has already been good enough to explain that it was only by his express desire you consented to do so. He had his reasons. Not a word more is needed.”