Miss Houlton's refinement was dropping from her as she grew voluble.
"Good gracious me! What's the matter, Mr. Wilton?"
For Wilton had got up—had suddenly swayed and apparently only prevented himself from falling by catching at the table by the side of him.
Iris caught his arm. "Are you ill?" she questioned quickly. "You look bad. What is the matter?"
Wilton passed his hand over his forehead wearily. "I don't know"—a curious little hesitation coming into his voice—"I felt rather queer a few minutes ago."
Iris pushed him back in the chair gently.
"You are overdone, that's what it is. You will just have to rest now."
Chapter X
"I did hear that Sir Felix came to the Manor last night, miss."
The sacking apron, tied round the waist, the coarse print frock and the wrinkled hands of the speaker proclaimed her to be "a lady who obliged."
Hilary and Fee had been settled at Rose Cottage for the past three weeks. It appeared to be an ideal home for the two, and the man and woman who had been found for them by Sir Felix Skrine seemed ideal servants—quiet, attentive and efficient. But neither Hilary nor Fee looked happy. Sir Felix, while absolutely refusing to countenance Hilary's engagement, had not interdicted her correspondence with Wilton altogether, and at first his letters had been frequent and affectionate, but for the last fortnight they had ceased.
Hilary's brown eyes had a puzzled, worried expression, and the pathetic droop of her lips acquired since her father's death was becoming accentuated. Fee was frankly bored and miserable. He hated Rose Cottage; hated the garden, above all, with its high wall set round; hated the village and its inhabitants, so many as he had seen, with their talk of the local doings and the events which seemed to the denizens of Heathcote of supreme importance. The only thing in all Heathcote, in fact, to which he extended the faintest liking was a small and friendly kitten that he had annexed at its first visit. He was nursing it now—as he lay with his back resolutely turned to the window—a fluffy black ball, it was purring contentedly as it nestled up to him and his hand moved backwards and forwards over its fur.
A certain amount of interest, however, came into Fee's face at the charwoman's observation, and he turned sharply to his sister.
"Hilary, if Godfather is down here you must send for him. I must talk to him about this new doctor and the wonderful cures he is making."
"I expect Sir Felix is sure to come in some time today," Hilary returned hesitatingly. "But I don't know what to say about the new cure, Fee. Those much-talked-of cures are so often take-ins—you know what Dad used to say about them—and they are very expensive."
"I dare say!" Fee's voice trembled. For a moment he seemed to be on the verge of an outburst. "Of course you would think of the expense first. I wonder how you would like to lie here on this couch all day and never see anything but this horrid garden."
Hilary protested.
"Fee, dear, it is really a nice garden, and Godfather had such lovely plants put in it for us."
"I don't care if he did," Fee said passionately. "I would rather look out on to the dirtiest London street with some life going on, people passing backwards and forwards, than on the most beautiful of these blessed Heathcote gardens, and be stuck up here away from everything."
"Well, I don't know what to do, Fee. Godfather thinks you will like it when you get used to it."
"Used to it!" Fee hunched his shoulders and glowered at his sister. "I shall not get used to it! I will not get used to it! And when Godfather comes—"
"Beg pardon, sir," the charwoman interposed pacifically, "but when I was cleaning up at the top I see Sir Felix in the churchyard, going to her ladyship's grave, he were, and a beautiful cross of white flowers in his hand. Ay, it isn't many wives as are mourned and looked after as her ladyship is. All most chaps thinks of is getting another as soon as they can. A compliment to the first, some folks thinks. Not a bit of it, I says. It's just that they likes a change. Most of 'em 'ud get the second before the first were buried, if they could. Why, there is Sir Felix himself coming in at the gate. Maybe I had better do what I have to do another time."
She scuttled off, wiping her hands on her apron.
Hilary went out to meet Sir Felix.
He drew her into the garden. "I want to talk to you, Hilary. And you ought to be out of doors all day drinking in this beautiful air. If Fee persists in sticking in the house, you at any rate ought to have your chair on the lawn."
Hilary looked rather wistful.
"Yes, I should love it. But Fee just won't. And I can't leave him alone, poor boy."
Sir Felix frowned.
"'Tiresome boy' is what I feel inclined to say. I have let him alone so far, but I shall have to have a serious talk with him one day soon."
"You must remember Dad spoiled him. And"—Hilary hesitated a moment—"I don't know how much money we have, Sir Felix, but I suppose you will tell us all about it when things are settled up."
"I shall render an account of my stewardship when Fee comes of age," Sir Felix said gravely, though a faint smile was lurking round his mouth. "But there is plenty for your present needs, Hilary. What is it you want—new frocks?"
Hilary repressed a shiver.
"No, indeed! I don't feel as if I should ever want one again. It is Fee—he has seen about some wonderful cures that a Dr. Blathwayte is making in all sorts of bone diseases, and he is wild to try him. I am afraid he is very expensive."
"I expect he is," Sir Felix said dryly. "I think I have heard of the man. Bit of a quack, isn't he? Is he an osteopath?"
"No, I imagine not," Hilary said doubtfully. "At least the papers don't call him that. But do you think anything can be done?"
"In the way of Fee going to him, do you mean?" Sir Felix said slowly. "Well, I don't know. I will make inquiries and let you know. Hilary, do you remember what day this is?"
"Day!" Hilary repeated vaguely. "Day of the month, do you mean? I'm sure I don't know. All days seem so much alike to me now."
"It is the anniversary of my wife's death," Sir Felix said, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. "I always make a point of being here and laying her favourite flowers on her grave myself. She was very fond of you, Hilary."
"I was very fond of her," Hilary said earnestly. "She was always so kind to me."
"She loved you," Sir Felix went on hoarsely. "Hilary, I often think how pleased she would be to see you here in Heathcote, the place that was so dear to her—and with me!"
The glance that emphasized the last two words deepened an uneasy suspicion that had been springing up in Hilary's mind of late.
"You have been very good to us, Sir Felix—to Fee and to me."
"Good!" Sir Felix repeated. "Good! That is not quite the right adjective, Hilary. Naturally any man would do anything for the woman he—loves."
With a startled movement of distaste Hilary sprang away from him. He was too quick for her, however. He caught her hand and placed it on his arm, patting it with a quiet fatherliness that was in itself reassuring.
"Did you never guess, Hilary?" he questioned. "Dear, sometimes I have thought all the world must know. Your father wanted it above all things. It was his great wish that you—"
"Please, Sir Felix!" With a touch of quiet dignity Hilary drew herself away. "You know that I am engaged to Basil Wilton."
Sir Felix did not speak for a minute. His blue eyes had a curious