So they stood still on the edge of the drive, and the carriage drew near. It was a landau, and the sun shone in upon Lord Mountclere, with Lady Mountclere sitting beside him, like Abishag beside King David.
Very blithe looked the viscount, for he rode upon a cherub to-day. She appeared fresh, rosy, and strong, but dubious; though if mien was anything, she was a viscountess twice over. Her dress was of a dove-coloured material, with a bonnet to match, a little tufted white feather resting on the top, like a truce-flag between the blood of noble and vassal. Upon the cool grey of her shoulders hung a few locks of hair, toned warm as fire by the sunshiny addition to its natural hue.
Chickerel instinctively took off his hat; Sol did the same.
For only a moment did Ethelberta seem uncertain how to act. But a solution to her difficulty was given by the face of her brother. There she saw plainly at one glance more than a dozen speeches would have told—for Sol’s features thoroughly expressed his intention that to him she was to be a stranger. Her eyes flew to Chickerel, and he slightly shook his head. She understood them now. With a tear in her eye for her father, and a sigh in her bosom for Sol, she bowed in answer to their salute; her husband moved his hat and nodded, and the carriage rolled on. Lord Mountclere might possibly be making use of the fine morning in showing her the park and premises. Chickerel, with a moist eye, now went on with his son towards the highroad. When they reached the lodge, the lodge-keeper was walking in the sun, smoking his pipe. ‘Good morning,’ he said to Chickerel.
‘Any rejoicings at the Court to-day?’ the butler inquired.
‘Quite the reverse. Not a soul there. ’Tisn’t knowed anywhere at all. I had no idea of such a thing till he brought my lady here. Not going off, neither. They’ve come home like the commonest couple in the land, and not even the bells allowed to ring.’
They walked along the public road, and the carrier came in view.
‘Father,’ said Sol, ‘I don’t think I’ll go further with you. She’s gone into the house; and suppose she should run back without him to try to find us? It would be cruel to disappoint her. I’ll bide about here for a quarter of an hour, in case she should. Mr. Julian won’t have passed Corvsgate till I get there.’
‘Well, one or two of her old ways may be left in her still, and it is not a bad thought. Then you will walk the rest of the distance if you don’t meet Mr. Julian? I must be in London by the evening.’
‘Any time to-night will do for me. I shall not begin work until to-morrow, so that the four o’clock train will answer my purpose.’