The next achievement was to place a tapering bank of plants against a discoloured patch of wallpaper, and many and varied were the struggles before the necessary stand was arranged. Eventually an old desk formed the bottom tier, a stool the second, and the baby's high chair the third and last. Draped with an old piece of green baize, with small pots of trailing _Tradescantia_ fitted into the crossbars of the chair, and the good old family _Aspidistras_ ("as old as Mabel!" explained Mrs Thornton, stroking one of the long green leaves affectionately) taking the place of honour, the effect was so superior and luxurious that the vicar had to be dragged from his study to exclaim and admire.

"There, just look at our divans! Did you ever see anything look more luxurious? Who could ever suspect they were only a make-up? Sit down and see how comfortable this is!" cried Mrs Thornton volubly; whereupon the vicar sat down heavily in the centre of the seat, and promptly descended to the floor amidst a heaped-up pile of bedding, pillows, _Sunday at Homes_, and broken bricks.

He gasped and groped wildly with his hands, and the sight of him sitting p.r.o.ne among the ruins was so comical that both girls went off into peals of laughter. The humorous side of the accident was not, however, quite so apparent to the mistress of the ceremonies.

"That tiresome, tiresome bed! I might have known as much! It used to collapse with me regularly when I was nursing Mabel with scarlet-fever!"

she cried impatiently. "Now we shall have to begin from the beginning, and make it up again. How tiresome of you, Arthur, to be so heavy!"

"I will spare you the obvious retort, dear. Let us be thankful that I was the victim, and not Lady Elstree, whom you would certainly have escorted to the seat of honour to-morrow. If you will allow me to help, I think I could manage to make things fast."

At this critical moment a loud rat-tat sounded at the door, and Mrs Thornton rushed to peep out of the window.

"Horrors, a visitor! Mary will show her into the room, I know she will!

That girl has no more sense than a doll! Ruth--Mollie--Wallace! pick up the things on the floor; throw them behind the sofa! Pull the sewing-machine to the wall! There's no room for anyone to tread! Of all the tiresome, aggravating--"

"Nonsense, dear--nonsense!" cried the vicar, laughing. "Leave things as they are. You have quite sufficient excuse in the fact of expecting a hundred people to-morrow. There will be no room to tread then, if you like!"

He turned towards the door as he spoke, and Mrs Thornton hastily smoothed her hair as it opened wide, and Mary's eager voice announced--

"If you please, mum, a 'amper!"

"A _what_?"

The vicar and his wife pressed forward eagerly, and, lo! on the well- worn oilcloth of the pa.s.sage lay a large wicker hamper, addressed to "Mrs Thornton, The Vicarage, Raby," and bearing on the label the name of a well-known London fruiterer. To cut the string and tear it open was the work of a moment, when inside was revealed such treasures of hothouse fruits as left the beholders dumb and gasping with admiration.

There in profusion were grapes, peaches, giant strawberries of the deepest red, pineapples,--each one more perfect and tempting than the last, in their dainty, padded cases.

The vicar stood looking on, stroking his chin, and smiling with enjoyment at his wife's delight, as she bent over her treasures, exclaiming and rapturising like a girl in her teens.

"How lovely! How charming! How delightful! My fruit-table will be a triumph! This is exactly what I needed to give the finishing touch to my preparations! I've never seen finer fruit--never! Wallace, Wallace, won't we be grand?"

"So grand that I am afraid the churchwardens will have serious doubts as to the school funds," said the vicar, laughing. "I have twenty pounds in hand at the present moment, and really--"

"Oh, don't be a goose! Of course, everyone will guess that it is a present. I shall say so myself on every opportunity. But who from?

Who can have thought of such a thing?" Her eyes turned with sudden questioning to the two girls. "Ruth, Mollie--did you?"

"Indeed, no! I didn't think of it, I am sorry to say!" said Ruth; and added honestly, "I am too hard up to pay for all those lovely things!"

"And you know nothing about it, really?"

"Really and truly, not a thing!"

"You don't think that perhaps the squire--"

Mollie recalled the snubbing which she had received on suggesting the improvements to the vicarage, coupled with the various cynical remarks to which Mr Farrell had given utterance on the subject of this very garden-party, and felt convinced that he was not the anonymous donor; but these things were not to be repeated, so she remained silent, while Ruth and Mrs Thornton wondered and speculated.

No one could be thought of more likely than the squire, for the parishioners, as a rule, were not overburdened with money, nor the few who were, with generosity.

"I have never had such a thing done for me all the years I have been here--never once!" cried Mrs Thornton, waxing almost tearful in her excess of grat.i.tude. "And to send it anonymously, too--so modest and una.s.suming! The dear, kind, thoughtful creature. I shall never rest until I know who it is?"

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE DAY OF THE PARTY.

The morning of the garden-party was bright, almost perilously bright even for June; but there was exhilaration in the sight of the blue sky, dappled with fleecy white clouds, which formed such an exquisite contrast to the velvety green of the landscape, and a delicious sense of luxury in strolling about in the sun, and feeling rid at last of the treacherous wind.

The squire's guests breakfasted upon the terrace, to the mild disapproval of Mrs Wolff, who could not understand why people could not be content to remain comfortably indoors, instead of picknicking in gipsy-like fashion on every possible occasion. Her small, pinched face expressed the annoyance which she had not the courage to put into words, and as soon as her duties were over she hurried back to the shelter of the house. Immediately she had disappeared Jack boldly demanded another cup of coffee, and set to work on toast and marmalade with a fresh access of appet.i.te.

The opportunity was too good to be resisted. Ruth flew indoors for her camera, and stood a few yards off focusing the table and its occupants, and waiting for a picturesque moment in which to snap. It came at last, just as Jack was forgetfully indulging in an enormous bite, a bachelor habit which had become a standing joke among his companions. Mollie had stolen a half-eaten piece of toast from his plate one morning, and measured the gap with an inch tape, to his everlasting embarra.s.sment, so that the pictured memorial was hailed with delight.

Needless to say, Jack wished to have his revenge, and immortalise Mollie sc.r.a.ping the sugar out of the bottom of the cup in school-girl fashion, and finally Bates was pressed into the service and instructed how to snap, so that a complete group might be taken.

By this time it was ten o'clock, and Mollie announced her intention of going down to the vicarage to help in the final preparations for the afternoon's entertainment. She took for granted that Ruth would accompany her; but Miss Ruth had her own ideas as to the employment of the next few hours, and they had nothing to do with Mrs Thornton's garden-party.

On her way downstairs to breakfast she had overheard Victor telling a servant that he had no orders for the stables this morning. The inference was, therefore, that he intended to stop at home, and the thought had instantly darted into her mind that if Mollie went off to the vicarage there would be an hour or two before lunch, when--when--

Ruth blushed guiltily to herself when she got so far in her calculations; but it was such a delight to enjoy a quiet _tete-a-tete_ talk sometimes, instead of the general impersonal conversation. So it came to pa.s.s that when Mollie announced her intention of going down to the vicarage to help in the final preparations, Ruth absolutely refused to accompany her.

"I've done my share," she said. "To-day I am going to be a visitor pure and simple, and drive down when everything is ready for my reception."

Mollie shrugged her shoulders resignedly.

"Well, somebody has got to do it, and, thank goodness, I'm not poor- spirited enough to leave a friend in the lurch at the last moment! I shan't be satisfied until I see the last chair in order; but I don't see any reason why I should walk. There is a pony-carriage in the stables, and if anyone had any nice feeling they would drive me there and back!"

Jack laughed, and limped across the terrace.

"Anyone, singular; they, plural! Your grammar is deficient, Miss Mollie; but I suppose your modesty forbade you to be more explicit. I have lots of good-feeling, and nothing to do, so I shall be charmed to escort you, if you will give the order. It would take me too long to get down to the stables."

It was evident that Jack's offer was pleasing to Mollie, for she thanked him with a smile as bright as her words, and a quarter of an hour later on they were driving together across the park behind the sleek little pony, Mollie chatting gaily as usual, Jack listening with an air half amused, half bored. Despite his accident, he was looking strong and well, his skin bronzed by the outdoor life of the last few weeks; but the old haughty, intolerant expression, which had seemed his chief characteristic at first meeting, was still noticeable in curving lip and nostril. Not an easy man to convince against his will, nor one to be easily affected by the presence of a pretty girl.

"How cross Uncle Bernard was when I told him about the mysterious hamper! One would think he grudged poor Mrs Thornton having anything nice!" said Mollie severely. "He nearly snapped my head off when I asked if he had sent it. I should not have thought much of that, if he had not denied it in so many words, for he might have been trying to put me off; but after what he said there can be no more doubt on the subject. I wonder who could have sent it? Mrs Thornton says she will never rest till she finds out."

Jack flicked the pony impatiently.

"Why can't she be content to take it quietly, and not worry any more?

That's the worst of women--they must make a fuss! If the man who sent it wanted to be thanked, he would have put in a card. If he didn't, it shows that he prefers to be anonymous, and it's bad taste to go ferreting round trying to find out what she is not intended to know. I should tell her so straight, if I were you."

"No, you wouldn't, because, being a woman, you would be consumed with curiosity, as I am. Now, I wonder why you said the 'man'?" queried Mollie, tilting her head on one side, and staring at him with mischievous eyes. "What makes you think it was a man? Couldn't it as easily have been a woman?"

"Oh, quite; but I prefer to use one p.r.o.noun and stick to it, instead of muddling them up as you do. Why are you always in such a hurry to snap a fellow up?" cried Jack irritably.

Mollie made a naughty little _moue_.

"I thought it was the other way about! I was most mild and lamb-like, when you snubbed me for my grammar, abused my s.e.x, and accused me of bad temper. It shows how little you know of my beautiful disposition!"

Jack flicked the pony again, his face darkened by a frown.