‘Is Sir Frederick Pinkerton ever really grieved about anything?’ There was a certain scornful ring in her voice as she asked this question.
Sir Frederick bit his lip. His sallow cheeks flushed a little.
At this moment, there came an interruption. Miss Lucy ran up with red face and dishevelled hair, swinging her straw hat by its ribbons. ‘I’ve been such a long way, aunty, and I’m so tired!’
Lady Dimsdale was examining her fingers and pinafore with serious face. ‘O Lucy!’ was all she said.
‘I couldn’t help it—really, I couldn’t. Strawberries and cream—such a lot!—with Mr Boyd at the Meadow Farm.’
‘With Mr Boyd!’ said Lady Dimsdale in a low voice.
‘Yes. I met him in the garden ever so early, and he said he was going for a walk, and would I go with him. So I went, and it was ever so jolly. But’—with a yawn—‘I’m so hot and tired!’
Lady Dimsdale gave her the doll.
‘O you beauty! How smart Aunt Laura has made you!’ she cried in an ecstasy of admiration. Then she sat down on a low stool close to Lady Dimsdale, and forgot for a little while that she was either hot or tired.
‘I have fulfilled my promise, Lady Dimsdale,’ said the Baronet in a low voice. ‘That woman will never trouble Mr Boyd again.’ He looked meaningly at her as he spoke.