Immediately
afterwards the bride and bridegroom were to depart. So far, so good. But
Lady Kirton was not to have it quite her own way on this same Saturday,
although she had enjoyed it hitherto.
A rumour reached her ears in the afternoon that Dr. Ashton was at the
Rectory. The doctor had been spending Easter at Cannes, and the dowager
had devoutly prayed that he might not yet return. The news turned her
cheeks blue and yellow; a prevision rushing over her that if he and Lord
Hartledon met there might be no wedding after all. She did her best to
keep Lord Hartledon indoors, and the fact of the Rector's return from
him.
Now who is going to defend Lord Hartledon? Not you or I. More foolish,
more culpable weakness was never shown than in thus yielding to these
schemes. Though ensnared by Maude's beauty, that was no excuse for him.
An accident--or what may be called one--delayed dinner. Two county
friends of Hartledon's, jolly fox-hunters in the season, had come riding
a long way across country, and looked in to beg some refreshment. The
dowager fumed, and was not decently civil; but she did not see her way to
turning them out.
They talked and laughed and ate; and dinner was indefinitely prolonged.
When the dowager and Lady Maude rose from table the former cast a meaning
look at Lord Hartledon. "Get rid of them as soon as you can," it plainly
said.
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