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Both of them kept up an active correspondence with Maryllia's aunt, Mrs. Fred Vancourt, a lady who was their 'very dear' friend, owing to her general usefulness in the matter of money. And Mrs.
"For," said she, "when Miss Maryllia first come 'ome she 'adn't an idee o' goin' to hear Passon Walden, an' sez I 'do-ee go an' hear 'im, an' she sez 'No, Spruce, I cannot, I don't believe in it' an' I sez to myself, 'never mind, the Lord 'e knows 'is own, which He do, but 'ard as are His ways I never did think He'd a' brought her to be Passon's wife, that do beat me, though it's just what it should be, an' if the Lord don't know what should be why then no one don't, an' that 'minds me o' when I sent for Passon to see me unpack Miss Maryllia's boxes, he was that careful he made me pick up a pair o' pink shoes what 'ad fell on the floor 'Take care o' them, he sez Lor! now I come to think of it, he was mortal struck over them pink shoes!"
Maryllia's hand laid so coaxingly on his arm, Maryllia's face so sweetly and pleadingly upturned, Maryllia's half-tender tremulous voice with its 'Will you forgive me? and then his own impetuous words! the way he had caught her hand and kissed it! why his very look must have betrayed him to the 'noble and honourable' detective, part of whose distinguished role it was to listen at doors and afterwards relate to an inquisitive and scandal-loving society all that he heard within.
To have plotted and contrived a stay at Badsworth Hall with the blusterous Pippitt in order to have the opportunity of crossing Maryllia's path at every turn, and compromising her name with his in her own house and county, and then to find himself 'left, with the civil suggestion that he should 'call and see' the antique Sisters Gemini, Lady Wicketts and Miss Fosby, was somewhat too much for his patience.
Pan Adderley?" Her eyes danced with mirth and mischief, as they flashed from his face to Maryllia's. "Genius," she continued "can even call forth a parson from the vasty deep if it chooses to do so, Mr. Walden is coming to tea this afternoon." "Indeed!" And Maryllia's sweet voice was a trifle cold. "Did you invite him, Cicely?" "Yes.
That reduced its length by a couple of inches at least. I told them as modestly as I could that my ankles were too vastily exposed, but they said it didn't matter, as I was only a day-boarder." Maryllia's eyebrows went up perplexedly. "I don't see what that has to do with it," she said "Would you have preferred to live in the Convent altogether, dear?"
Sir Morton Pippitt won't send him away, we may be sure of that!" "If HE doesn't go, I suppose WE must?" queried Cicely tentatively. Maryllia's eyes grew sad and wistful. "I'm afraid so I don't know we shall see!" she replied slowly "Something will have to be settled one way or another pleasantly or unpleasantly." Cicely's black brows almost met across her nose in a meditative frown.
My curse on you!" Shaking his fist threateningly at her, he sprang down the knoll, and plunging through the grass and fern was soon lost to sight. The soft colour in Maryllia's cheeks paled a little and a slight tremor ran through her frame. She looked at Walden, then laughed carelessly.
But Maryllia's own mind was far from being set on such themes as love and marriage. Her meditations were melancholy, and not unmixed with self-reproach. She blamed herself for having stayed away so long from her childhood's home, and her father's grave. "I might have visited it at least once a year!" she thought with sharp compunction "I never really forgot, why did I seem to forget?"
Rest, escorted by well-nigh a hundred children, who, with laughter and song carried it triumphantly up to Abbot's Manor, and danced round it in a ring on the broad grassy terrace facing the open windows of Maryllia's favourite morning room, where Maryllia herself, sweet and fair as a very queen of spring, stood watching them, with John Walden at her side.
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