The day was a Saturday, and Elma’s wedding to Mr Rex Rutherford was fixed for the following Friday. It was to take place at Little Farncombe Church. Rutherford had insisted upon it.
Mr Sandys was unaware that he was triumphant over poor old Homfray and his son, and it pleased him to think that they should be married in the village church where old Mr Homfray had been rector.
Elma and her father were at the Towers, and Rutherford had motored down to spend the day. He posed as the devoted lover, and really played the part quite well now that he and Freda understood each other. The woman was no longer jealous. He had given her an assurance to return to her.
The pair, by Gray’s marriage to Elma, would reap a rich harvest at the expense of the poor girl’s happiness and future. With Roddy safely out of the way the road was laid open for complete conquest. The coup would be complete.
The cold, cheerless day had been very showery, but Rutherford and Mr Sandys had been out all the afternoon with their guns over some rough shooting towards Hindhead.
At about five o’clock the neat maid Evans ascended to Elma’s room, saying:
“James says, miss, that there is a man in the kitchen who wants to see you personally.”
“What kind of man?” asked the girl, surprised, she being at the moment before the mirror in the feminine act of powdering her face.
“James says he’s a respectable-looking working man, miss. He won’t see anybody but you.”
“Then I suppose I must see him. Tell James to send him round to the hall. I wonder who he can be? Begging—a starving wife and family, I expect. Ah! our poor ex-service men,” she added with a sigh, “they gallantly won the war for us, and now nobody wants them—alas! How very cruel the world is!”