Part 48 (2/2)

We must look ahead.”

”Yes, no doubt,” said Mears blankly.

”I see what you mean. But we'll get an order through--before very long.

Meanwhile, you must do some more of your clever dressing.”

And it was just then--before Mr. Mears could promise to dress the empty shelves--that the house servant appeared, and told her mistress of the unexpected arrival of Mrs. Kenion.

It was not a Thursday; and Enid came only on Thursdays, and never before luncheon. Mrs. Marsden knew at once that something remarkable had occurred.

”Is Miss Jane with her?”

”Yes, ma'am. They're waiting for you upstairs in the drawing-room.”

Mrs. Marsden hurried up to the first floor, and rushed through the door of communication.

”Enid, my dearest child.”

”Oh, mother, mother! It's all over.”

Enid was in a pitiable state of distress; the red circles round her eyes were absolutely disfiguring; she wrung her hands, and contorted her whole body.

”Enid dear--tell me. Don't keep me in suspense.”

”He has gone--went to London this morning.”

”Who went? Charles? Do you mean Charles?”

”Yes--and I don't believe he will ever come back to me.”

”Wait a moment, my love,” said Mrs. Marsden. ”Jane shall have a treat.

Jane, you shall come and play in the pantry. Won't that be nice?”

And she took her grandchild by the hand, and led her from the room.

Outside in the pa.s.sage she smiled at the little girl, patted her cheek, stooped to hug and kiss her. Then she gave her over to the charge of the housemaid--an elderly woman with an ugly face and an austere manner--and walked briskly back to the dining-room.

”Eliza will amuse Jane,” she said cheerfully. ”Eliza is kind, although she seems so forbidding.... And now, my dear, you can tell me all about this news--this great news--this _astonis.h.i.+ng_ news of yours.”

Enid told her tale confusedly. She was too much distressed to record events in their logical sequence. She worked backwards and forwards, breaking the thread with e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, laments, and sad reflections, mixing yesterday with days that belonged to last year and the year before last year. But Mrs. Marsden soon grasped the import of the tale.

Mr. Kenion was the lover as well as the pilot of that rich hunting lady.

Enid had suspected the truth for a long time, had been certain of the truth and suffered under the certainty for another long time--all that, however, belonged to the past days and was quite unimportant. Yesterday was the important day.

Yesterday there had been a lawn meet--whether at Widmore Towers or somewhere else, Mrs. Marsden did not gather. Mrs. Bulford's horse was there; but as yet Mrs. Bulford had not shown herself. Charles was there, dismounted for the moment, walking about among the gentlemen in front of the house, taking nips of cherry brandy and nibbling biscuits offered by the footmen with the trays. All was jollity and animation--promise of fine sport; dull sky, gentle westerly breeze, dew-sprinkled earth; kindly nature seemed to proclaim a good scenting day.

And somebody, who has proved a very dull-nosed hound, is on the scent at last. Here comes stiff-legged Major Bulford, armed with a hunting crop although he only hunts on wheels, hobbling over the lawn among the gentlemen.

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