Part 66 (1/2)

”Mother dear, is anything wrong? Are you ill?”

The car had stopped; and Enid, clambering on the step, showed a white, scared face.

”No, my dear. I am quite all right. I'll get out here, and stroll in the garden with you.... My sweet Enid, did the message frighten you?”

”Yes, dreadfully.”

”It was inconsiderate of me not to say I wasn't ill.... I am taking the day off. That is all.”

”But what has happened? Something has upset you. I can see it in your face.”

Then, as they walked slowly to and fro along a terrace between bright and perfumed flowers, Mrs. Marsden-Thompson quietly told her daughter the news.

”I am a widow, Enid dear.... No, it did not upset me. Mr. Mears and I were both prepared to hear it.... But of course it takes one back into the past; it sets one thinking--and I felt at once that I ought not to attend to ordinary business, that it would be only proper to take the day off....

”And I think, Enid, that henceforth I shall call myself Mrs.

Thompson--plain Mrs. Thompson, dropping the other name altogether.”...

She had paused on the path, to pick a sprig of verbena; and she gently crushed a thin leaf, and inhaled its perfume. ”Yes, dear. I always liked the old name best. But I felt that while he was living, it might seem unkind, and in bad taste, if I altogether refused to bear his name. Now, however, it cannot matter;” and she opened her hand and let the crushed leaf fall. ”He has gone. And he is quite forgotten. There is n.o.body who can think it unkind if his name dies, too.”

x.x.xIII

The pleasant years were slipping away, and Mrs. Thompson was just as busy as she had ever been. She had long ago ceased to speak of retiring, and now she did not even think of it. The success of Bence's had continued to swell larger and larger; its trade grew steadily and surely; its financial position was so strong that nothing could shake it.

Prentice and Archibald Bence often advised the proprietress to turn herself into a company, and she was more or less disposed to adopt their suggestion. Some day or other she might do it. But it would be a big job--the promotion of a company on the grandest scale, with enormous capital involved, wants careful consideration. Perhaps she was a little inclined to shrink the preliminary labours of the scheme--and in any event the flotation could not bring her more leisure, because she would certainly be obliged to remain at Bence's as managing director.

In these years Jane had made her bow at the Court of St. James's, and had experienced the excitement of a London season; but as yet her guardians had found her no suitable sweetheart. They were difficult to please; and she herself appeared to be in no hurry. However, Jane at twenty-two was so good-looking, so vivaciously amiable, so altogether charming, that Mrs. Thompson and Mrs. Kenion knew well that they would not be able to put off the heavy day much longer. The right man, though still unseen, must have drawn very near by now.

On Thursday afternoons, weather permitting, Mrs. Thompson liked to drive in the carriage; and it was always an especial treat when the social engagements of her ladies allowed them to accompany her. As the big bay horses trotted along the smooth roads she leaned back in her seat with luxurious contentment and beamed at Jane, at Enid, at all the world.

”Now is not this much nicer--the air, the quiet enjoyment, the gentle motion--than if we were being whirled past everything in a motor-car?”

”Yes, granny, it _is_ very nice.”

”I fear that you would have preferred the car, Enid?”

”Oh no, mother dear. I think horses are delightful when you don't want to go far, and time is no object.”

”That's just it,” said Mrs. Thompson. ”Time is no object. The horses help me to remember that; and I like to remember it--because it gives one the holiday feeling.”

”Poor granny!” Jane had taken one of grandmamma's hands, and was squeezing it affectionately. ”And it's only a _half_-holiday. You don't get enough of the holiday feeling.... Oh, where's my Kodak? I must snap those children.”

The carriage was stopped; Jane sprang out, and ran back to photograph three little girls in a cottage garden.

”There,” said Mrs. Thompson triumphantly. ”If we had been in the car, she wouldn't have seen them. We should have pa.s.sed too quickly.”

Jane stopped the carriage again, when they came to a point where the road turns abruptly to cross a high bridge above the railway.