The Vision of Desire Part 20

Mrs. Hilyard suddenly went very white. Fortunately, Miss Caroline's attention happened to be concentrated at the moment upon stirring the sugar into her second cup of tea, and by the time this was satisfactorily accomplished, the pretty colour was stealing back into the cheeks that had paled so swiftly.

"I'd really no idea there were any other houses at all near mine," murmured Mrs. Hilyard, after the briefest of pauses. "I came across an advertis.e.m.e.nt of the Priory, dashed down to see it one day, and fell in love with it on the spot--partly because it seemed so far from everywhere."

"We value our privacy in Silverquay," said the rector, smiling. "Almost all the large houses are tucked snugly away out of sight--hidden by trees or rising ground."

"Did you come here to be quiet, then?" asked Miss Caroline, thrusting in her oar the instant her brother had finished speaking.

"Yes," answered Mrs. Hilyard simply.

Miss Caroline fixed her with a gimlet eye.

"How very surprising!" she remarked. "You don't look in the least like the sort of person who would choose to live in a quiet country village like Silverquay."

"Don't I?" Mrs. Hilyard smiled. But she did not volunteer any explanation of her choice.

Here Ann, recognising Miss Caroline's now familiar methods of cross-examination, came to the rescue and diverted the conversation into a less personal channel, and shortly afterwards the Tempests left in order to pay some parochial visits in the village, Ann shepherding them as far as the gateway.

Mrs. Hilyard exchanged a sympathetic smile with Robin. "The Miss Carolines of the world are rather trying, aren't they?" she observed mirthfully. "I think she has gone away fully convinced that there is something 'queer'

about me--that I'm not quite respectable, probably!"

"Ridiculous!" growled Robin in tones of wrath. "She has only to look at you!"

"Thank you"--meekly. "I'm glad you think I look--respectable."

"You know I didn't mean that! I think you look--I think you look--" He floundered and broke off abruptly.

"Yes?" There was the tiniest rising inflection in her voice, demanding an answer.

Across the little room Robin's eyes laughed into hers.

"Perhaps I'll tell you some other time--when I know you better," he said.

At that moment Ann returned from speeding the Tempests on their way. Mrs.

Hilyard rose.

"I must be going, too, I think," she said. "But I don't want you to trouble about driving me back, Miss Lovell. I'll walk."

"It's no trouble at all," Ann a.s.sured her. "Tell Billy to bring the cart round, will you, Robin?"

He nodded, and held out his hand to Mrs. Hilyard.

"Good-bye," he said. "I'd ask you to let me drive you back, but that I've made an appointment to see one of Mr. Coventry's tenants."

A few minutes later d.i.c.k Turpin, somewhat annoyed at being taken out of his stall just as feeding-time approached, was bearing Ann and her new acquaintance swiftly along the road towards the Priory.

Mrs. Hilyard was very silent during the first part of the drive. She appeared absorbed in her own thoughts, and from the expression of her face one might have hazarded a guess that she was inwardly debating some moot point. All at once she seemed to come to a decision.

"I think," she said in a quiet, clear voice, "that I must have met this Mr.

Coventry who lives at Heronsmere. I knew an Eliot Coventry--once."

She did not look at Ann as she spoke, but gazed straight ahead as though the strip of bare, lonely road which stretched in front of them were of peculiarly vital interest.

"What--is he like?" she went on. Any one observing her at the moment would have gathered the impression that she was forcing herself to speak with composure--that it was not easy for her. But Ann, preoccupied with d.i.c.k Turpin's vagaries, was not looking at her.

"Oh, he's tall," she made answer. "And has grey eyes. There's a little white scar just under one of them."

The woman beside her drew a quick breath.

"Ah"--the sweet, _trainante_ voice was a fraction uneven. "Then it _is_ the man I've met."

The ralli-cart swung round a corner into a narrow lane, and a quick exclamation broke from Ann as she recognised in the tall, striding figure approaching from the opposite direction the man of whom they had just been speaking. A beautiful thoroughbred collie bounded along beside him, looking up at his master every now and again with adoring eyes.

"Why, here _is_ Mr. Coventry!" she exclaimed. "Shall I pull up?"

Without waiting for an answer she brought the cob to a standstill exactly as Eliot, catching sight of them, halted instinctively.

"Good afternoon," she called out gaily, as he lifted his hat. "We were just speaking of you. Here is an old acquaintance of yours."

Eliot's glance travelled swiftly from her face to that of her companion.

His expression was quite impenetrable--mask-like in its impa.s.sivity. Mrs.

Hilyard bent forward, holding out her hand.

"Have you forgotten me, Mr. Coventry?"

For an instant the man and woman looked deep into each other's eyes, as though to bridge the time which had pa.s.sed since last they met--questioning what the intervening years had brought to each of them. But Eliot made no attempt to take the outheld hand. He did not appear to see it, and Mrs.

Hilyard let it drop slowly down again on to her lap.

"Forgotten Cara Daintree?" he said lightly. "Is it likely I should?"

"Cara Hilyard, now." She corrected him a shade nervously.

"Oh, yes. Hilyard, isn't it? Of course."

His glance flashed over her face, searching and cold as a hawk's. She winced under it, but faced him gallantly, though a flush crept up under her clear skin.

"I hear we are near neighbours. I hope"--she forced herself to meet those hard, unflinching eyes--"I hope you will come and see me, Mr. Coventry."

He bowed stiffly.

"Thanks," was all he said. Then, laying his hand on the cob's shining flank, he deliberately addressed himself to Ann: "Is d.i.c.k Turpin still behaving himself properly?"

She nodded.

"He's a perfect cherub," she a.s.sured him warmly. "Any one could manage him--even when he has an attack of high spirits. He's got a mouth like velvet."

"There's something to be said for the driver's hands, possibly," suggested Coventry, with a smile. "Light hands make a light mouth. Still, I'm glad to know he suits you."

He whistled up his dog, who came racing to heel, then, with a grave bow which briefly included Mrs. Hilyard, lifted his hat and resumed his way along the lane.