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In the great glass house at Ravensham, Lady Casterley stood close to some Japanese lilies, with a letter in her hand. Her face was very white, for it was the first day she had been allowed down after an attack of influenza; nor had the hand in which she held the letter its usual steadiness. She read: "Monkland Court.
In a very high, white-panelled room, with but little furniture, Lord Valleys greeted his mother-in-law respectfully. "Motored up in nine hours, Ma'am not bad going." "I am glad you came. When is Miltoun's election?" "On the twenty-ninth." "Pity! He should be away from Monkland, with that anonymous woman living there." "Ah! yes; you've heard of her!"
The older members of the family received their education at the parish school of Old Monkland, under the late Mr.
A chuckle rose from the recumbent figure. "Only my knee. The beggars! They precious nearly choked me, though." Bertie Caradoc, leaving the smoking-room at Monkland Court that same evening, on his way to bed, went to the Georgian corridor, where his pet barometer was hanging.
I shall go in." Under the stone porch she paused. The purple cloud had broken; a blind fury of rain was deluging the fast-scattering crowd. A faint smile came on Lady Casterley's lips. "It will do them good to have their ardour damped a little. You will get wet, Clifton hurry! I expect Lord Valleys to dinner. Have a room got ready for him to dress. He's motoring from Monkland."
She was a slender, short old woman, with an ivory-coloured face, a thin nose, and keen eyes half-veiled by delicate wrinkled lids. Very still, in her grey dress, and with grey hair, she gave the impression of a little figure carved out of fine, worn steel. Her firm, spidery hand held a letter written in free somewhat sprawling style: MONKLAND COURT, "Geoffrey is motoring up to-morrow.
Captain Riddel gave his infant society a great many of his old books, else I had written you on that subject; but, one of these days, I shall trouble you with a commission for "The Monkland Friendly Society," a copy of The Spectator, Mirror, and Lounger, Man of Feeling, Man of the World, Guthrie's Geographical Grammar, with some religious pieces, will likely be our first order.
Anonymous Night seeking for a symbol could have found none better than this errant figure, to express its hidden longings, the fluttering, unseen rushes of its dark wings, and all its secret passion of revolt against its own anonymity.... At Monkland Court, save for little Ann, the morning passed but dumbly, everyone feeling that something must be done, and no one knowing what.
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