‘Arrowthorne Lodge—where Mrs. Petherwin lives, I mean.’
‘Yes. She lives there along wi’ mother and we. But she don’t want anybody to know it, sir, cause she’s celebrate, and ’twouldn’t do at all.’
Christopher said no more, and the little girl became interested in the products of the bank and ditch by the wayside. He left her, pushed open the heavy gate, and tapped at the Lodge door.
The latch was lifted. ‘Does Mrs. Petherwin,’ he began, and, determined that there should be no mistake, repeated, ‘Does Mrs. Ethelberta Petherwin, the poetess, live here?’ turning full upon the person who opened the door.
‘She does, sir,’ said a faltering voice; and he found himself face to face with the pupil-teacher of Sandbourne.
13. THE LODGE (continued)—THE COPSE BEHIND
‘This is indeed a surprise; I—am glad to see you!’ Christopher stammered, with a wire-drawn, radically different smile from the one he had intended—a smile not without a tinge of ghastliness.
‘Yes—I am home for the holidays,’ said the blushing maiden; and, after a critical pause, she added, ‘If you wish to speak to my sister, she is in the plantation with the children.’
‘O no—no, thank you—not necessary at all,’ said Christopher, in haste. ‘I only wish for an interview with a lady called Mrs. Petherwin.’
‘Yes; Mrs Petherwin—my sister,’ said Picotee. ‘She is in the plantation. That little path will take you to her in five minutes.’