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Updated: May 5, 2025
Long before they reached Sandacre she had quite recovered her self-command, and the flash of the sea upon the horizon brought from her a quick exclamation of pleasure. "Ah, yes, it is beautiful, that!" he agreed with enthusiasm. "And there is the sand there, yes?" She nodded. "I used to think we'd go and picnic there. But I don't think I want to now."
Also " "Also," broke in Mordaunt, with a smile, "if he can't find something more profitable to do than to tease his small sister." He extended a quiet hand. "I have been wanting to make your acquaintance for some time. In fact, I was contemplating running down to Sandacre for the purpose." "Very good of you," said Rupert.
They were sitting on the terrace awaiting the luncheon-hour. Across the garden came Noel's shrill whistle, and instinctively, before she remembered her aunt's presence, Chris answered it. The boy appeared at the farther end of the long lawn, and came racing towards them. "Just seen the postman, Chris. Here's a letter for you such a horrible fist, Sandacre post-mark, and sealed.
By the way, he managed skilfully to keep in the background at Bertrand's trial. I fancy he was away on some special mission at the time, and he did not appear. I never saw him before that day at Sandacre Court, and I did not so much as know then that he and Bertrand were acquainted. Did you know that?" She started at the question, but answered it more naturally than she had before spoken. "Yes.
Aunt Philippa replied in the measured accents habitual to her. "Nothing has happened. I have been to Sandacre Court, at Mrs. Pouncefort's invitation, to see the gardens. I waited for you, Chris, for nearly an hour this morning, but you did not see fit either to come to me or to send any word of explanation to account for your absence. Therefore I started late. Hence my late return."
As you perceive, it was written from Sandacre Court about a week ago, and I now realize that it is not the first letter which the writer has sent to this house. You may remember a discussion arising one morning on the subject of a letter from Sandacre Court.
"Next year," suggested Mordaunt, without turning his head. "Perhaps," she said, a little dubiously. Bertrand said nothing. He was looking out to the wide horizon with a far look in his eyes, almost as though he saw beyond that sparkling sky-line, even beyond the sea itself. The strains of the military band from Sandacre reached them as they turned in at the wide-flung gates.
I hoped he would come too, but he has got to stay and interview the architect about that subsidence in the north wing. I wish you would come instead." He shook his head. "No no! That is not possible. Where does this lady live?" "Sandacre way, towards the sea. Oh, do you know Rupert is coming over on Sunday with some brother officers? I had a card from him this morning. He is very fond of Mrs.
She seemed to breathe with difficulty. "Of course it's private! All my letters are private!" "But it comes from the Pounceforts," objected Noel. "I saw 'Sandacre Court' at the top of the page." Chris sprang to her feet impetuously with blazing eyes. "And what if it does? You had no right to look over me. It was a hateful thing to do. What if it does come from Mrs. Pouncefort?
She was in trouble, and she desired me to stay. I should have grieved her if I had refused. I was wrong, I admit it. I should have gone then. I should have left her to you. I do not defend myself. I only beg you to believe that I did not see the danger, that if I had seen it I would not have remained for a single moment more. Then came the day at Sandacre, the encounter with Rodolphe.
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