"Is the man a sneak?"
"Just the opposite. A highly-educated, open-mannered, masterful kind of man, who can hold his own with his betters, and apparently, not recognise them to be so. To see him and hear him you might think he had been born the master of Heron Dyke at least. Any way, that's what Ella Winter intends him to become."
"She has the Denison blood in her veins, I suppose, and we know the old distich," carelessly remarked Sir Gunton:
"'Whate'er a Denzon choose to do
Need ne'er surprise nor me nor you.'"
The small dinner-party at Heron Dyke, of which Miss Winter spoke to her housekeeper, was held without much delay. Philip, getting strong then, was able to attend it with his mother and Maria. Lady Maria Skeffington, who had been taking a good deal of notice of Maria since her marriage; the Vicar, and Dr. Spreckley completed the party.
Dinner was over, and they were all back in the large drawing-room when the evening post was brought in. It was some hours late; the postman said there had been a break-down on the line. Three or four newspapers came in, and one letter, which was addressed to Miss Winter. It bore the American post-mark; and Ella's curiosity arose, not so much because she knew no one in America, as that she thought the handwriting was Margaret Ducie's.
"Oh, I must open it," she exclaimed, taking it into the next room.
The intervening doors were open, and they watched her read the letter. She came back with it in her hand, looking a little pale.
"It is from Mrs. Ducie," she said in a low tone to her guests: "it is dated from Rhode Island, America. I think you ought to hear it. Perhaps"--turning to Mr. Conroy--"you will read it aloud."
Conroy took the letter from her hand, glanced over it, and began: