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On the last day he entertained the farmers to dinner in the best parlor, and afterward they all stood in the front garden, smoking cigars and praising Mrs. Dale's roses and carnations. Mavis too gave parties; but she as a rule exercised her hospitality at the back of the house, where the little court and the petitioners' bench near the kitchen door were more fully occupied than ever.
"You always get your own way," she murmured, as he lit it for her. "Now we'll have a cosy little chat," he said, as he wheeled her chair to the fire. He brought his chair quite near to hers. Mavis did not suffer quite so much. "Now about this trouble," he continued. "Tell me all about it." She restated the subject of her last letter in as few words as possible.
She then fell to imagining how envious she would be were she acquainted with a happy Mavis Keeves who, in three days' time, was to belong, for all time, to the man of her choice. It was with inexpressible joy that she presently permitted herself to realise that it was none other than she upon whom this great gift of happiness unspeakable had been bestowed.
Pamela lingered by Tweedside listening to the mavis, looking back at the bridge spanning the river, the church steeple high against the pale blue sky, the little town pouring its houses down to the water's edge.
"That accounts for the whole trouble," he remarked. "You should have fed him yourself." "It didn't agree with him, and then it went away," Mavis told him. "Ah, you had worry?" "A bit. Do you think he'll pull through?" "I'll tell you more to-night," he informed her. Mavis attracted men.
When Miss Nippett had put on her goloshes, bonnet, and cloak, and Mavis her things, Mr Poulter accompanied them to the door. "I live in the 'Bush': where do you?" asked Miss Nippett of Mavis. "Kiva Road, Hammersmith." "Then we go different ways. Good night, Mr Poulter; good night, Miss Keeves." Mavis wished her and Mr Poulter good night.
"Good night," he said, as he stopped just before they reached the nearest lodge gates of her grounds. "Good night and thank you," replied Mavis. "I won't wish you a very happy Christmas." "May I wish you one?" "Good night," he answered curtly.
"What's wrong?" "That Mrs Budd. I took a dislike to her directly I saw her." Mavis stared at Mrs Trivett in surprise. "I do hope you'll be comfortable," continued Mrs Trivett. "But I fear you won't be. She looks the sort of person who would give anyone damp sheets and steal the sugar." Mrs Trivett said more to the same effect.
Bending over her shoulder in an attitude of unconcealed devotion was Charlie Perigal. Mavis took in the significance of all that she saw at a glance. Her blood went ice cold. Something snapped in her head. She opened her lips to speak, but no words issued. Instead, one arm was uplifted to accuse. Then she became rigid; only her eyes were eloquent.
The more Montague saw of her the more he disliked his son-in-law's share in the paternity of Mavis's dead child. Now and again he would discuss business worries with her, which established a community of interest between them. His friendship gave Mavis confidence in her endeavours to placate the female Devitts.
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