Just as his lordship has gained a point and the girl is about to give way, Miss Linton herself receives a shock, caused by a rat-tat at the drawing-room door, light, such as well-trained servants are accustomed to give before entering a room occupied by master or mistress.
To her command "Come in!" a footman presents himself, silver waiter in hand, on which is a card.
She is more than annoyed, almost angry, as taking the card,
she reads
It is fortunate for his Reverence, that before entering within the room another visitor is announced, and ushered in along with him. Indeed the second caller is shown in first; for, although George Shenstone rung the front door bell after Mr. Musgrave had stepped inside the hall, there is no domestic of Llangorren but knows the difference between a rich baronet's son and a poor parish curate, as which should have precedence. To this nice, if not very delicate appreciation, the Reverend William is now indebted more than he is aware. It has saved him from an outburst of Miss Linton's rather tart temper, which, under the circumstances, otherwise he would have caught. For it so chances that the son of Sir George Shenstone is a great favourite with the old lady of Llangorren; welcome at all times, even amid the romantic gallantries of Lord Lutestring. Not that the young country gentleman has anything in common with the titled Lothario, who is habitually a dweller in cities. Instead, the former is a frank, manly fellow, devoted to field sports and rural pastimes, a little brusque in manner, but for all well-bred, and, what is even better, well-behaved. There is nothing odd in his calling at that early hour. Sir George is an old friend of the Wynn family was an intimate associate of Gwen's deceased father and both he and his son have been accustomed to look in at Llangorren Court san ceremonie .
No more is Mr. Musgrave's matutinal visit out of order. Though but the curate, he is in full charge of parish duties, the rector being not only aged but an absentee so long away from the neighbourhood as to have become almost a myth to it. For this reason his vicarial representative can plead scores of excuses for presenting himself at "The Court." There is the school, the church choir, and clothing club, to say nought of neighbouring news, which on most mornings make him a welcome visitor to Miss Linton; and no doubt would on this, but for the glamour thrown around her by the fascinations of the dear delightful Lutestring. It even takes all her partiality for Mr. Shenstone to remove its spell, and get him vouchsafed friendly reception.
"Miss Linton," he says, speaking first, "I've just dropped in to ask if the young ladies would go for a ride. The day's so fine, I thought they might like to."
"Ah, indeed," returns the spinster, holding out her fingers to be touched, but, under the plea of being a little invalided, excusing herself from rising. "Yes; no doubt they would like it very much."
Mr. Shenstone is satisfied with the reply; but less the curate, who neither rides nor has a horse. And less Shenstone himself indeed both as the lady proceeds. They have been listening, with ears all alert, for the sound of soft footsteps and rustling dresses. Instead, they hear words, not only disappointing, but perplexing.
"Nay, I am sure," continues Miss Linton, with provoking coolness, "they would have been glad to go riding with you; delighted "
"But why can't they?" asked Shenstone impatiently, interrupting.
"Because the thing's impossible; they've already gone rowing."
"Indeed!" cry both gentlemen in a breath, seeming alike vexed by the intelligence, Shenstone mechanically interrogating:
"On the river?"
"Certainly?" answers the lady, looking surprised. "Why, George; where else could they go rowing? You don't suppose they've brought the boat up to the fishpond!"
"Oh, no," he stammers out. "I beg pardon. How very stupid of me to ask such a question. I was only wondering why Miss Gwen that is, I am a little astonished but perhaps you'll think it impertinent of me to ask another question?"
"Why should I? What is it?"
"Only whether whether she Miss Gwen, I mean said anything about riding to-day?"
"Not a word at least not to me."
"How long since they went off may I know, Miss Linton?"
"Oh, hours ago! Very early, indeed just after taking breakfast. I wasn't down myself as I've told you, not feeling very well this morning. But Gwen's maid informs me they left the house then, and I presume they went direct to the river."
"Do you think they'll be out long?" earnestly interrogates Shenstone.
"I should hope not," returns the ancient toast of Cheltenham, with aggravating indifference, for Lutestring is not quite out of her thoughts. "There's no knowing, however. Miss Wynn is accustomed to come and go, without much consulting me."
This with some acerbity possibly from
the thought that the days of her legal guardianship are drawing to a close, which will make her a less important personage at Llangorren.