Chapter II: A Triumphant Return

Amongst Mrs Measures’ most intimate friends was Lady Bristowe. She did not live in Deepdale, but at a big place called Tor Abbey, some miles distant, and as she was the widow of Admiral Sir Thomas Bristowe, and had a large income, the country people considered her to be a very grand lady indeed. In reality she was a very uninteresting personage. Her fat, soft, foolish face, with its triple chins, was always good-natured and smiling, but her intellect was at the lowest ebb, and she was ready to be swayed by every contrary wind of doctrine, and to believe all that was told to her. Had it not been, indeed, for the sagacity of her companion, Miss Sarah Brennan, Lady Bristowe would have been oftener taken in than she was. Miss Brennan was a sharp, keen woman, between thirty and forty years of age, with a suspicious nature, an evil tongue, and a propensity for the society of the lower classes. She was half a lady’s maid and half a companion, of sufficient unimportance to be thrust in the background whenever it was convenient for her employer to do so, and yet considered good enough to sit with Lady Bristowe, and take her meals at table, whenever there was no one better to be procured. For, with all her riches, her ladyship was a lonely woman, and wanted an object in life. She had but one child--a son, who was in the Royal Navy, and generally away at sea--and she soon tired of her country amusements, her poultry yard and flower garden and pet spaniels, when she had no one but Miss Sarah Brennan to talk to about them. It was this reason that had made her take to driving over to see Mrs Measures much oftener than was convenient to that busy little woman. She would be just looking over the vicar’s linen, perhaps--or making a cake for Sunday, or superintending the pickling of gherkins, or the boiling of raspberry jam--when up the vicarage drive would come rolling the open barouche of Lady Bristowe, with its grand bay horses and its pompous men-servants, and her ladyship’s portly figure occupying all the front seat, while Sarah Brennan sat at the back, with a couple of Blenheim spaniels. But Mrs Measures had never had the heart to repulse her ladyship’s friendship. She was too good-natured to do so, and Lady Bristowe was too good-natured for anyone to be angry with. She beamed with good-nature. She pressed her benefits on those she liked, until it became impossible to refuse them. And her fat, foolish face would shake with laughter over the silliest story or the feeblest joke, whilst her companion sat opposite, with hard, stony eyes and tightly compressed lips, the very model of a dangerous and unsympathetic woman. Naturally Mrs Measures soon confided the history of Hal Rushton’s love and marriage to Lady Bristowe. She had called one day when the vicar’s wife was on the point of going over to Highbridge Hall, and she had told her all about it. Not _quite_ all, perhaps, for she omitted two of the leading incidents, one being Paula Stafford’s quarrel with the churchwardens, the other that Hal’s father’s widow was such a low and uneducated person. Mrs Measures considered herself justified in withholding these facts, since she did not see the use of repeating them, nor what business they were of anyone but the parties concerned. So Lady Bristowe was left to imagine that the pretty school teacher had relinquished her situation on purpose to marry the handsome young farmer, and she thought it a most romantic story. Indeed, she became quite enthusiastic about it, and all the more so because Paula had turned out to be the daughter of a naval officer. The Royal Navy was Lady Bristowe’s ‘fetish.’ Her father and her brothers had all been sailors. She had married a sailor, and her only child was a sailor, so that to pick up anything that had belonged to the navy in Deepdale seemed like treasure-trove in her eyes. She became quite anxious for the return of the bride and bridegroom, that she might become personally acquainted with young Mrs Rushton, and bestow some of her favours upon her.

‘I have so few friends, you know, dear Mrs Measures,’ she said. ‘There is positively no one fit to associate with about here except yourself and Miss Levenson of Pryde and Lord and Lady Warden at Cheath Hall. It will be a real pleasure if this young lady will visit me occasionally at Tor Abbey. Oh, not just yet, of course,’ she continued, smiling broadly; ‘we must give them time to grow a little tired of each other’s company. _We_ know what it is at first, don’t we, Mrs Measures? You haven’t forgotten, I daresay, any more than myself, all the billing and cooing, and the dears and the darlings. The men are all alike, my dear. But it wears off very soon, that’s the funny part of it,’ and Lady Bristowe chuckled over the idea until her face was crimson.

‘It is lucky it _does_ wear off,’ replied the vicar’s wife, ‘or it would sadly interfere with the business of life. I wonder how the house or the servants or the babies would get on if marriage were one long honeymoon.’

‘Talking of houses,’ said Lady Bristowe, ‘I should like to see over Highbridge Hall next time you go there, if you don’t think the young people would consider it an impertinence.’

‘I am _sure_ they would not,’ replied Mrs Measures warmly. ‘They ought to be flattered by the interest you take in it. The workmen have not quite finished there yet, and I go over every afternoon to see how they are getting on, for we expect Mr and Mrs Rushton home the second week in September.’

‘They come to the vicarage first, do they not?’

‘Yes, for a week. I thought I could help Paula to put the finishing touches to her house better if she were staying here instead of at Highbridge Hall.’

‘I shall come over and make their acquaintance whilst they are with you,’ said Lady Bristowe.

‘They will be pleased, I am sure,’ responded her friend, ‘and I am equally certain you will be pleased with them. I can assure you I look upon them as quite my best friends in Deepdale.’

This conversation led to a visit to Highbridge Hall, where good-natured Lady Bristowe discovered that the little greenhouse was rather scantily furnished, and insisted upon filling it with exotics from her magnificent glasshouses at Tor Abbey.

‘We mustn’t let the bride come home and find anything wanting,’ she said. ‘Now, really, my dear, you must let me have my way in this little matter. You know we have dozens of plants more than we can use; indeed, my gardener, Bennett, makes an income out of selling my seedlings. I shall order him to stock this little house for the winter.’

‘I am sure Paula will deeply appreciate your kindness, Lady Bristowe. I believe the child loves flowers above everything else, but Mr Rushton has not turned his attention hitherto to ornamental gardening. He is fonder of his stables. However, Paula will keep him up to it now.’

A few days after Mrs Measures mentioned that the day for their return was fixed upon, and she intended to meet them at the Haltham station and bring them home.

‘What _in_, my dear?’ inquired her ladyship.

Mrs Measures laughed a little, and said,--

‘Well, I mean to drive into Haltham in our own chaise, but as it only holds two, I shall leave the man to bring it home, and hire an open fly from Moore, which will carry us all three, and the luggage into the bargain.’

‘Nonsense, my dear Mrs Measures; you will do no such thing. You will take my carriage. Fancy bringing a bride and bridegroom home in a musty old fly. I won’t hear of it. They must have the barouche, and are as welcome to it as the flowers in May.’

‘But, my dear Lady Bristowe, this is going too far. The Rushtons have no such claim on you. They are quite simple young people, you must remember, and I am afraid it would seem like putting them under too deep an obligation.’

‘What, my lending my carriage to _you_. No, no, you don’t get out of it that way. It is at your disposal on the tenth, and will be at the vicarage in time to meet the four o’clock train at Haltham.’

‘You are so kind, I don’t know how to refuse you,’ murmured Mrs Measures, who yet saw the advantage to her young friends of such an acquaintance, ‘but it seems too bad to deprive you of your carriage this fine weather for even an afternoon. What will you do without it, Lady Bristowe?’

‘Well, I was going to propose that, as there are four seats in the barouche, I would drive into Haltham with you, that is to say if I should not be in the way.’

‘_In the way!_ in your own carriage. How can you suggest such a thing?’ replied the vicar’s wife reproachfully; ‘indeed you are altogether too good, and I am sure Hal and Paula will say the same. This will make their home coming quite a triumphal return.’

And in her heart Mrs Measures was secretly delighted at the idea of the envy and surprise which would be excited in the breasts of Paula’s enemies by the open interest displayed in her by the lady of Tor Abbey. Of course everybody in Deepdale knew that she was expected to return home with her husband on the tenth of September, and many were the speculations as to whether she would feel her position so acutely as to hide her confusion in a close fly, or whether she would be brazen enough to drive through the village in an open one. Mrs Gribble, whose ‘viller’ was situated some way past the vicarage, took the trouble to walk down to Mrs Axworthy’s cottage, which stood on the way to Haltham, in order to watch from her front window for the Rushtons’ return, and Mrs Axworthy sent her son Jemmy some little distance up the road in order that he might run back and let them know as soon as ever the fly came in sight. Mrs Measures, the better to baulk their curiosity, and render the _dénoûement_ the more striking, had herself driven over to the Abbey that morning and persuaded her friend to go to Haltham by another route, so that the residents in Deepdale were quite ignorant that she had started to meet the newly married couple.

‘I suppose,’ said Mrs Gribble to Mrs Axworthy, ‘that the vicar’s wife is a-fussing and a-fuming in the kitchen because her dear Miss Stafford is coming ’ome. Redikerlous! Mrs Poland says she sent in two ducks and an ’am there yesterday morning. Mutton and beef ain’t good enough, I suppose, for such as she. She may be thankful if she finds meat in her mouth to her life’s end, for notwithstanding all the fuss they’re a-making about her, she ain’t no good, Mrs Axworthy, and that they’ll find out to their cost before many years is over their ’eads. I pities that pore young man from the bottom of my ’eart. He ain’t been all he should have been, perhaps, to his stepma, but he’s deserving of a better lot than this anyway.’

‘So _I_ sez,’ responded Mrs Axworthy, ‘but Mr Haxworthy, _he_ say that they’re much of a muchness. Young Hal Rushton was always stuck-up and himperent to his helders, and that’s a bad sign in a young man. Shall you have a good view of them from where you hare, Mrs Gribble, or shall we go hupstairs?’

‘Oh, no, thank you, I can see beautiful,’ replied Mrs Gribble, who was ensconced behind a lace window curtain; ‘not that I cares much how the minx looks, or don’t look, for never does she darken my doors, after the insult she paid Mr Gribble, and she needn’t think it. I daresay she thinks, now she’s a-coming ’ome as Mrs Rushton, and the ’All’s been fresh done up for ’er, that the ladies of Deepdale will forget all that’s gone before, and be ready to congratulate ’er upon ’er marriage. But not _me_, Mrs Axworthy. I ain’t made of sich stuff. I’ve got a very true ’eart, and a very feeling one, but I can’t forget a hinsult, nor yet a hinjury, nor I don’t consider as Mrs Rushton is a proper person for any of us ladies to pass the time of day to.’

‘Well,’ said her friend contemplatively, ‘me and Haxworthy have had many a talk over it, and he says as how we stand in a difficult position with regard to the vicarage. There is no doubt that, right or wrong, Mr and Mrs Measures _have_ took up Miss Stafford (or Mrs Rushton, as I should say), and he don’t want to lose the churchwardenship, nor have any misunderstanding with the vicar. And he says that no doubt ’Al Rushton will be giving parties on ’is return, in order to make things straight for his wife, and he thinks it will be the dooty of us ladies to visit ’er, cool-like if you choose, but still to go to the ’All, and keep in with the vicarage for our gentlemen’s sakes.’

‘Ah, well, if they gives pleasant parties, dances and garden “feets,” and suchlike, I don’t know as I mightn’t try to overlook the past,’ replied Mrs Gribble affably, ‘but I can never like ’er, Mrs Axworthy--_never_!’

‘Ma, ma!’ cried Jemmy, tearing into the room, breathless and dusty, ‘the carriage is a-coming over the ’ill now, and it’s got two ’orses and two coachmen.’

‘Two ’orses, Jem!’ echoed his mother. ‘It can’t never be the Rushtons, then. It must be Lady Bristowe or Lady Warden driving through Deepdale. Why, there ain’t a two-’orse fly in all Haltham!’

‘It’s Lady Bristowe’s barouche; I can see the green liveries,’ said Mrs Gribble, as she gazed through the curtain, with Mrs Axworthy leaning over her shoulder.

The open carriage drew nearer. It was going at a rapid rate, and the horses’ coats were slightly flecked with foam. In it were seated four people. On the front seat, Lady Bristowe, with the bride by her side, and on the back, Hal and Mrs Measures; and all three ladies held enormous bouquets of flowers, Paula’s being made entirely of white blossoms. They all looked very happy, and were talking and laughing together; but they passed the window like a flash of lightning, and left nothing but a cloud of dust behind them. Mrs Gribble and Mrs Axworthy looked at one another with undissembled surprise.

‘Well, I _never_!’ cried the latter, as soon as she found her tongue, ‘if it wasn’t them, after all, and in Lady Bristowe’s carriage, sitting there as ’igh and mighty as you choose, and as if it all belonged to them. And did you see her ’at, Mrs Gribble, ma’am, with a white feather curled round it, and a fawn Newmarket coat? What next? Well, wonders will never cease! And how did her ladyship come to know ’em as intimate as all that? That’s some of Mrs Measures’ doings, I’ll be bound. Lady Bristowe is always at the vicarage; but to visit a parson’s wife is a different thing. Well, if I hadn’t seen it with my own heyes, I wouldn’t never have believed it.’

‘Nor me neither,’ rejoined the other lady. ‘“It’s the ungodly flourishing like a green bay tree,” as the scripture says, and I feel as if some ’orrible dispensation must be ’anging over Deepdale when sich injustices is allowed. Miss Stafford riding in her ladyship’s barouche, when she ain’t never so much as taken any notice of _me_, as everyone knows for miles around to be the churchwarden’s lawful wife. Well, I must go ’ome and tell Mr Gribble this, for he’d never believe it from any lips but mine.’

Meanwhile, Hal and Paula had been anything but elated by the honour so unexpectedly paid to them. They would much rather have driven home quietly by themselves, or in the company of Mrs Measures. To see her kind face on the platform of Haltham station had been a real pleasure. Hal Rushton had wrung her hand, exclaiming, ‘This _is_ a surprise! How very good of you. Paula will be as delighted as myself,’ and turned to communicate the news to his wife, as she alighted from the carriage. But when Mrs Measures had replied, ‘I am not alone. My friend Lady Bristowe, who is anxious to make your acquaintance, has driven me over in her barouche, and intends to take us all back to the vicarage,’ the young people, though rather overwhelmed, were obliged to consent. And Lady Bristowe had been so effusive in her welcome, too. She had shaken Hal’s hand as if she had known him all his life, and insisted upon kissing the pretty, pathetic-looking bride. So the luggage was dispatched in Moore’s fly, and the party returned in triumph, as we have seen, to Deepdale. The bouquets had been rather a trial to Hal. Like most men, he abhorred anything like publicity or display, but the flowers were there, and Lady Bristowe would take no denial. And as a palliative to being carried through the village as if they were going to the races or the hustings, there was the undoubted fact that her ladyship had paid his young wife a great compliment, and that the acquaintance might be of service to her. Mrs Gribble and Mrs Axworthy were not the only people in Deepdale who saw and commented on this unexpected return. Every window in the village held a face or two, full of disappointment and surprise. Deepdale had intended to be condescending to Mr and Mrs Hal Rushton if it found it worth its while to be so, but in the face of Lady Bristowe’s patronage it began to fear that its condescension might be overlooked. Her ladyship would not enter the vicarage, for Paula seemed tired, although her face was flushed, and she said she ought to take a rest. But she did not part from her without finding out the Christian name of her late father, that she might look him up in the _Navy List_ as soon as she got home, and she assured the young couple that she should be one of the first to welcome them when they took possession of their own house, and she hoped very soon to see them both at Tor Abbey. And then she enfolded Paula once more in her ample embrace, and thrusting all the bouquets in her hands, she drove smiling away.

‘The most good-natured woman in the world,’ said Mrs Measures, as she led the way into the cool vicarage parlour, ‘and one whom I hope will be a good friend to you, Paula. She is very rich, and has no near relations on which to bestow her benefits, and she has taken such a fancy to you because your father was in the navy. You must take everything she chooses to give you, my dear, and be very sweet to her in return, for she knows all the county families, and is really a person of importance.’

‘I am sure we are very much obliged for her kindness,’ replied Hal; ‘but I’m afraid the county families will be a cut above us, Mrs Measures.’

‘I don’t know why they should be. A man can be no more than a gentleman, and now that you have got rid of that objectionable widow, there is no obstacle to your receiving anybody in your house. But let me show Paula to her room, that she may take off her things.’

When they descended to the parlour again a substantial meal was spread upon the table, and the vicar was present. He saluted them kindly, but rather gravely, at least Paula imagined he was more cordial with Hal than with herself. He called the former ‘dear boy,’ and shook him warmly by the hand, but to her he only expressed a wish that her married life might be long and happy. Afterwards, on thinking it over, she blamed herself for blaming him. It was foolish of her to have forgotten that he had known her husband from a child, and she was a comparative stranger to him. Still, something in the tone of his voice had reminded her of the day that she had been catechised by him in that same room, in the presence of his churchwardens, and told her that he had not forgotten it either. This feeling, added to her fatigue, made Paula unusually quiet during the evening meal, and Mrs Measures remarked that her gay spirits had suddenly flagged.

‘It is the fatigue of the long railway journey,’ said Hal, looking fondly at her. ‘She is not a very strong little body, Mrs Measures, and we must pack her off to bed early to-night, in order that she may recover herself.’

Something had certainly occurred to depress Paula’s spirits, for when the meal was concluded, and she crept into the vicarage garden after her husband, she was as white as a lily.

‘My darling,’ he exclaimed, as he kissed the slight hand she thrust within his arm, ‘to-day has been too much for you. My White Rose looks quite drooping. Won’t you be good, and go to bed, whilst I run over to the Hall and have a look at the dogs and horses?’

‘Oh, no, Hal,’ she answered earnestly, clinging to him. ‘Please let me go with you. I am not too tired--indeed, I am not--and I should so love to see _our_ house, love, and _our_ garden.’

‘But, Paula, it is nearly a mile from this.’

‘It will do me good to walk. I have been sitting all day. Can’t you see that it is the heat, dear, that makes me look so pale? A little walk in the cool evening air will do me all the good in the world.’

‘All right, then. Get your hat, and we’ll be off. I’ll tell Mrs Measures where we are going.’

In another minute they were pacing together the quiet country fields that lay between the vicarage and the Hall.

‘Do you know,’ said Paula, when they were out of human earshot, ‘why I longed to come with you this evening, Hal? It was just in order to find myself alone with you again, like we were at Lynmouth. To-day, with all its bustle and publicity and congratulation, we have seemed to be wider apart than we were yesterday. It is all kindness, I know, but it comes between us, and I want you--_you only_.’

‘You silly girl,’ said Hal, venturing to kiss the white face upturned to his, ‘shall we not be always together for the rest of our lives? Why, you’ll be sick of me before long, Paula, after the fashion of modern wives, and looking out for someone else to admire you and say pretty things to you.’

‘Never, never, Hal! Don’t speak like that. You pain me.’

‘Well, then, I won’t, until it happens. But I agree with you, darling. We are never so happy as when we are alone. For my own part, I would rather have gone straight home to the Hall, even if it were not quite ready for us, but Mrs Measures’ offer was so kind, and so evidently came from her heart, that I did not think it possible to refuse it.’

‘Oh, no! And don’t think I am ungrateful to such a kind friend as she is to us. Only, our _own_ home! It will be so delightful to find ourselves there, won’t it, Hal?’

‘It will be the heaven I have dreamt of, Paula,’ he replied.

‘This is the extent to which I have yet gone,’ said Paula, as they reached the gates of the Hall, and caught a glimpse through them of the lawn and flower garden, which were approached by a handsome drive bordered by rhododendron and other flowering shrubs. ‘You don’t know, Hal, how often the poor school teacher walked this way in the evenings, and peered through those gates, and wondered if her handsome friend were anywhere about, or if he guessed how she regarded him.’

‘Don’t allude to those hateful days, my Paula; never think of them again,’ cried Hal, as he swung open the wide gates for her to pass through. ‘You are in your own domains now, darling, “Monarch of all you survey,” and God bless you for consenting to queen it over them and me.’

He raised his hat as he spoke, and Paula thought a wife had never had a more chivalrous welcome to her new home. The house and grounds were naturally looking their best, and she was enchanted with everything she saw. She had not thought it would be half so beautiful, nor that Hal’s head and heart would have been filled with so much care for her. Soft tears hung trembling on her eyelashes as she realised her happiness, and she could find no words in which to express her feelings. She could only cling close to her husband’s arm, and whisper her love to him, as he pointed out the alterations he had made and the improvements he had effected in the different departments. His stables were his great pride, and he was not satisfied till Paula had inspected his two tall hunters, the mare he drove in his dog-cart, and the little pony for her basket-carriage.

‘We only want a riding horse for the mistress, Derrick, and then I think we shall be complete,’ he said to the groom. ‘By-the-way, has Mr Ashfold sent over any message about his chestnut filly? I wrote to him about it from Lynmouth.’

‘Mr Ashfold was over here last week, sir,’ replied Derrick, touching his forelock, ‘and the little mare ain’t quite herself--got cold or summat--or he would have sent her over for the lady to try. But he expected she would be all right by now.’

‘Well, I must write again and ask after her. Where’s Joe?’

‘He’s out somewhere with the dogs, sir. I don’t let him go till I’ve brought the horses in from exercise. He’ll be back before long.’

‘Are the dogs all right?’

‘Yes, sir. “Queenie” whelped down a litter of five the day before yesterday, but she’s locked up in the outhouse, and Joe’s took the key.’

‘Well, they ought to be A1, if they live. Come, dear, I won’t let you stand about any longer. We will walk over and see the dogs to-morrow. Why, it is past eight. Mrs Measures will be expecting us home.’

‘One more turn round the garden, Hal,’ pleaded Paula, ‘it is so lovely. I think I shall sit out here all day. What is that grand dark tree whose branches sweep the ground?’

‘A cedar, dear. It is grand, as you say, but it destroys the grass underneath it. I prefer the mulberry and walnut trees. I can’t tell you how many hundred years old this mulberry tree is. It has stood here for generations. And it has a fine promise of fruit on it, too. Do you like mulberries?’

‘Oh, I _love_ them!’ cried Paula childishly. ‘I shall have black teeth all day long as soon as they are ripe.’

‘Greedy girl. We will carry out an arm-chair to the kitchen garden, and there you shall sit and gorge, till we have to carry you back in it. By-the-way, you haven’t seen the fruit and vegetable garden yet. It is close by--behind that wall. Come and be introduced to old Potter, the gardener. Old Potterer, as I call him; but he’s a good old servant, and will adore you.’

He pulled her playfully away from the lawn as he spoke, and opened a door in the stone wall that enclosed the fruit garden. The evening was still light, and every object discernible, although the green leaves had assumed a greyer tint in the fading day.

‘I expect Potter has gone home. I think he generally strikes work at seven. I have some splendid peach trees here, Paula. I wish we could find a basket. We would take some peaches to Mrs Measures. They must be in perfection now.’

‘There is someone moving at the bottom of the garden, Hal,’ said Paula, ‘don’t you see, close to the wall.’

‘By Jove! yes. It’s Potter picking the fruit. I told him to let the cook preserve what ripened during our absence. Let us go and stop his depredations.’

They ran down the walk together hand in hand like two children, and startled the figure next the wall, which turned out to be not the gardener but the widowed Mrs Rushton, with a market-basket on her arm, which she was busily filling with fruit. Hal perceived the situation at a glance, and his face darkened.

‘Mrs Rushton,’ he exclaimed, ‘what on earth are you doing here?’

The widow’s freckled and unwholesome looking face appeared quite ghastly in the half light, as she turned it towards them and stepped quickly off the garden bed.

‘Oh, ’Al!’ she replied, ‘is that you? I ’eard you was expected to-day at the vicarage, but I didn’t think to meet you ’ere.’

‘I suppose not; but I conclude you see I have my wife with me?’ replied Hal haughtily.

‘To be sure, and I ’ope I sees you well, ma’am,’ said the widow, as she thrust forth a horny hand for Paula to shake. ‘I’ve been quite busy picking up the peaches. There’s such a many on ’em, and they do lie and rot so, it seems a pity. But we was always famous for our fruit at the ’All, wasn’t we, ’Al?’

‘Yes. But I see no necessity for _your_ picking them up, Mrs Rushton. Our servants are surely capable of doing that, and I gave Potter my orders respecting the wall fruit before I left. Did you consult him about it?’

‘Consult Mr Potter?’ cried the widow, tossing her head, ‘why, certainly _not_. It would be a strange thing, I think, if _I_, who ’as lived in this ’ouse as my own for ten year, should demean myself to consult a gardener before I picks up a few peaches.’

‘But why give yourself the trouble?’ continued Hal, taking the basket, which was full to the brim with the choicest fruit, from her hand. ‘It is very good of you, of course, but there is no need. However, as it happens, you have saved Mrs Rushton and myself the task of picking them, as we were just about to do, for Mrs Measures. Is this _your_ basket?’

‘No, I suppose not. Nothink seems mine nowadays. I took it from the tool ’ouse. Times is wonderful changed, ma’am,’ she continued, to Paula, ‘but it’s Time only as will show if it’s for the better. Pride ’as its fall, as well as misfortin’, and it’s only dooty as brings a blessing. But I wish you ’ealth and ’appiness, ma’am, for to enjoy what you’ve got. Good-evening.’

And with that Mrs Rushton swept up the garden path and disappeared.

‘Oh, Hal, you have mortally offended her,’ said Paula.

‘I don’t care if I have. She sha’n’t steal our peaches, if I can help it. I suppose she’s been filling her basket every day during our absence. I will have the key of the fruit garden brought into the house for the future, and give Potter strict orders to admit no one but ourselves. By Jove! this basket is heavy. She must have got about twenty pounds in it. But it’s her last attempt at thieving. I’ll take care of that.’

‘How vicious she looked, Hal. There was quite a lurid light in her green eyes whilst she was pretending to wish me well. I am sure she hates me for having usurped her place at the Hall.’

‘No, Paula, not _her_ place. She has had no right here since my father’s death. But I daresay she bears you no goodwill, for she is a malicious, evil-natured person.’

‘She is horrible,’ acquiesced Paula, ‘and I wish we had not met her here on the first occasion of our seeing our dear home together. It seems like an evil omen--as if she were a malignant fairy who had the power to blight our happiness if we offended her.’

‘Now, my darling, you’re getting silly, which proves you are over-tired. How lucky I thought of telling Derrick to pop “Tubby” into the pony chaise. Jump in, and I’ll put the widow’s spoils at your feet. That’s it! Now, the reins, Derrick. I am just going to show the mistress what her new pony is made of, and as soon as I have dropped her at the vicarage I’ll bring him back again.’

And as ‘Tubby’ trotted at a good pace through the flower-scented lanes, and Hal’s loving words were poured into her ears, Paula forgot her passing dismay at Widow Rushton’s greeting, and thought only of the great happiness before her.