Return to Jalna. Mazo de la Roche

with an impossibly lovely face. It’s a pity you’re so — whatever you are that makes you hate people.”

      “I don’t hate people. I only ask to be let alone.” She carried the dishes to the kitchen. As though in defiance she began to sing.

      “How that song takes me back to Wales!” exclaimed Gemmel. “Oh, we were happy there, weren’t we — when Father and Christopher were alive?”

      “Be careful,” said Garda, “or you’ll make me cry.”

      “You’re pretty too. You can do anything you want to do. I am the only one who has need to cry.”

      Garda patted her on the back. “You are the happiest person I know, Gemmel. I often wonder why. And when it comes to faces, you have the most interesting one of the three of us. You could do anything — if you weren’t handicapped.”

      Gemmel looked straight ahead of her, inhaling the smoke from her cigarette.

      “I do very well,” she said.

IV BREAKING THE NEWS

      MEG HAD PRESENTED the pot of jelly to her uncles, been complimented on its colour and clearness. Now she sat down by the open fire and prepared to tell her news. But first she remarked:

      “It seems so strange not to see three or four dogs stretched on the hearth as there used to be.”

      “Yes,” Ernest agreed, “it does. But since old Merlin died, Alayne has been able to keep them, more or less, under control. The bulldog has taken up with Wright and spends most of his time in the stables. The sheepdog has a fancy for the kitchen. It’s a good thing too because the amount of mud he carries in on his long coat is extraordinary. He was actually ruining the rugs. I think Alayne is quite right to encourage them to keep out.”

      “I miss them,” growled Nicholas.

      “So do I, Uncle Nick. And so I’m sure will Renny when he comes home, if he ever does come home, poor darling. I sometimes doubt it.”

      Nicholas shifted in his chair. “He’ll come home, all right,” he muttered.

      Meg drew a deep breath and plunged into her disclosures.

      “He will find other changes too. For one thing, he will not find me at Vaughanlands.”

      Her uncles stared at her speechless.

      “I have sold it,” she said, dramatically. “Lock, stock, and barrel. To a Mr. Clapperton.”

      The two men repeated in one voice, “Sold it!”

      “Yes. Sold it. Now don’t say I have done this without consulting you, because I have been talking of selling ever since poor Maurice died. You all have known that it’s impossible for me to run the place alone. Every year it’s got harder. Every year I’ve had a greater loss. Three days ago an agent brought this Mr. Clapperton to see me. He is a widower, a retired business man. His wife hated the country but he loves it. He longs to settle down and live a quiet country life, breed prize stock. That sort of man, you know. He just wants something he’s never had. He has plenty of money. He’ll pay cash. Now shouldn’t I be foolish to stay on in that big house? Some day Patience will marry. I shall be left alone.” A pathetic quaver came into her voice.

      “But where will you go?” asked Ernest.

      “It seems providential.” She smiled, though tears were in her eyes. “The old Pink house is for sale. The house where that awful Mrs. Stroud lived, after the last war. They’re asking a ridiculous price for it but nothing is cheap nowadays. It’s a good time to sell.”

      “What are you getting for Vaughanlands?” asked Nicholas.

      She hesitated. She hated to tell. Not that her family would resent her getting a good price. They would rejoice. But — she hated to tell. However, she said quietly:

      “Fifty-five thousand dollars.”

      “Whew!” exclaimed Nicholas. “Quite an advance since pioneer days when the first Vaughan bought it.”

      “Think of all that has been spent on the estate! Think of the amount of land!”

      “I know. I know. Well, I shall try to be glad for your sake, Meggie. But it will seem queer to have a stranger at Vaughanlands.”

      “But he is so nice, Uncle Nick. All he wants is peace and quiet and books and a garden and prize stock. It’s quite touching to hear him talk.”

      “How old is he?” asked Ernest.

      “Between fifty and sixty. Very well dressed. Very carefully dressed. Quite immaculately turned out.”

      “Humph,” growled Nicholas.

      “Meggie,” said Ernest, “I am hurt that you should have done this without consulting us.”

      “Uncle Ernest, I dared not wait to consult you. Mr. Clapperton had another place in mind. He was wavering between the two. I might have lost him.”

      “Well, I hope he’ll be a nice neighbour.”

      “He will. Never doubt that. I should say that he’s the very personification of a nice neighbour.”

      At this moment Alayne came into the room. She had been aware that Meg was with her uncles and had given them time for conversation before entering. Now she was told of the sale of Vaughanlands and the proposed purchase of the small house. She congratulated Meg. She thought she had done well for herself and for Patience. They talked more congenially than was their custom.

      “It will be a great relief to you,” Alayne said. “I know what a burden these large places can be.” She gave a sigh and clasped her hands tensely in her lap.

      The three Whiteoaks bent looks on her that made her feel an outsider in spite of her twenty years’ residence among them.

      “Do you consider Jalna a burden?” Ernest asked, in a hurt tone.

      “We have been at our wits’ end to keep things going since the war, haven’t we?”

      “We have. But when the war is over there will be plenty of help. Renny and Piers will be home.”

      “If ever they come home, poor darlings,” said Meg.

      “How can you say such a thing!” exclaimed Alayne. “It is only the thought of their coming that makes it possible for me to keep things running.”

      “They’ll come. They’ll come,” said Nicholas. “And it can’t be too soon for me.”

      “Or for me,” declared Meg. “I don’t want them for what they can do, but just for themselves. Now that I have lost Maurice I yearn more and more for them.”

      Ernest laid his hand on hers. “Poor girl, you have had a hard time. Now do tell us more about this Mr. Clapperton. I do so hope he will be a congenial neighbour.”

      The talk circled round and round Mr. Clapperton and Meg’s plans for the future. She had barely gone when Rags entered, with an air of importance.

      “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, “but I ’ave to tell you that the oil ’eater ’as gone off. I can’t do nothing with it. Shall I telephone for the repair man to come out?”

      “Oh, Rags,” Alayne spoke despairingly, “can’t Wright do anything to make it go?”

      “Naow, ma’am. Wright’s ’elpless as I am. I expect there’s a fuse blown out.”

      “That oil heater,” said Nicholas, “is a pest. I sometimes wish you never had had it installed, Alayne.”

      “You must acknowledge,” she returned, “that the house has had a more even temperature than ever before. You have said repeatedly how comfortable it has made every room.”

      “I