of a minute or two passed—­and the terrace remained empty.  Then two ladies—­at the head of a second detachment of visitors—­appeared under the old stone porch which sheltered the entrance on that side of the house.  One of the ladies was a modest, pleasant little person, very simply dressed.  The other was of the tall and formidable type of “fine women,” clad in dazzling array.  The first was Mrs. Julius Delamayn.  The second was Lady Lundie.

“Exquisite!” cried her ladyship, surveying the old mullioned windows of the house, with their framing of creepers, and the grand stone buttresses projecting at intervals from the wall, each with its bright little circle of flowers blooming round the base.  “I am really grieved that Sir Patrick should have missed this.”

“I think you said, Lady Lundie, that Sir Patrick had been called to Edinburgh by family business?”

“Business, Mrs. Delamayn, which is any thing but agreeable to me, as one member of the family.  It has altered all my arrangements for the autumn.  My step-daughter is to be married next week.”

“Is it so near as that?  May I ask who the gentleman is?”

“Mr. Arnold Brinkworth.”

“Surely I have some association with that name?”

“You have probably heard of him, Mrs. Delamayn, as the heir to Miss Brinkworth’s Scotch property?”

“Exactly!  Have you brought Mr. Brinkworth here to-day?”

“I bring his apologies, as well as Sir Patrick’s.  They went to Edinburgh together the day before yesterday.  The lawyers engage to have the settlements ready in three or four days more, if a personal consultation can be managed.  Some formal question, I believe, connected with title-deeds.  Sir Patrick thought the safest way and the speediest way would be to take Mr. Brinkworth with him to Edinburgh—­to get the business over to-day—­and to wait until we join them, on our way south, to-morrow.”

“You leave Windygates, in this lovely weather?”

“Most unwillingly!  The truth is, Mrs. Delamayn, I am at my step-daughter’s mercy.  Her uncle has the authority, as her guardian—­and the use he makes of it is to give her her own way in every thing.  It was only on Friday last that she consented to let the day be fixed—­and even then she made it a positive condition that the marriage was not to take place in Scotland.  Pure willfulness!  But what can I do?  Sir Patrick submits; and Mr. Brinkworth submits.  If I am to be present at the marriage I must follow their example.  I feel it my duty to be present—­and, as a matter of course, I sacrifice myself.  We start for London to-morrow.”

“Is Miss Lundie to be married in London at this time of year?”

“No.  We only pass through, on our way to Sir Patrick’s place in Kent—­the place that came to him with the title; the place associated with the last days of my beloved husband.  Another trial for me! The marriage is to be solemnized on the scene of my bereavement.  My old wound is to be reopened on Monday next—­simply because my step-daughter has taken a dislike to Windygates.”