“I will.”

“Although I don’t suppose she’ll remember me after all these years.”

Devitt had left Windebank and gone about his business.  When he came out of the court house, and was about to get into his motor, Windebank again approached him, but in such a manner that made Devitt wonder if he had been hanging about on purpose to speak to him.

Windebank made one or two remarks about nothing in particular.  Devitt was about to start, when the other said: 

“By the way, when you do see Miss Keeves, you might tell her that the mater and my sister will be down here next week and that they’ll be awfully pleased to see her, if she’d care to come and stay.”

“I won’t forget,” replied Devitt dryly.

“Tell her to come for as long as she cares to, as the mater and Celia were always fond of her.  None of us could ever make out what became of her.”

“I won’t forget,” said Devitt again.

“Thanks.  Good-bye.”

Montague told his wife of this; she had replied: 

“We will decide nothing till we see her,” which meant that, if Mavis had not fulfilled the promise of her childhood, and had grown up plain, there would be some prospect of her being engaged in some capacity in the Devitt family, as her acquaintance with the big people about Melkbridge might result in introducing Victoria within the charmed circle, without prejudicing the latter’s chances of making a brilliant match.  Mrs Devitt’s words likewise meant that, if Mavis were charming or pretty, her prospects of securing an engagement would be of the slenderest.

Mavis, ignorant of these considerations, was driven to the door of Melkbridge House.  On getting out of the cart, the front door was opened by Hayter, the fat butler, who showed her into the drawing-room.  Left to herself, Mavis looked about the expensively furnished room.  Noticing a mirror, she walked to it in order to see if hair or hat had been disarranged by her journey and drive; as she looked at her comely reflection, she could not help seeing with a thrill of satisfaction that already the change of air, together with the excitement of the occasion, had flushed her cheeks with colour; she was looking her best.  She walked to the window and looked in the direction of her old home, which was on a slight eminence about a mile from where she stood:  were the time of year other than summer, its familiar outlines would not have been obscured by foliage.  Mavis sighed, turned her back on the window and walked towards the fireplace; something moving in the cool, carefully shaded room caught her eye.  It was the propitiatory wagging of a black, cocker spaniel’s tail, while its eyes were looking pleadingly up to her.  Mavis loved all animals; in a moment the spaniel was in her lap, her arms were about its neck, and she was pressing her soft, red lips to its head.  The dog received these demonstrations of affection with delight; although it pawed and clawed the only decent frock which Mavis possessed, she did not mind a bit.