So
it presented itself to the eyes of Mrs. Durlacher, when, one morning
late in April, she drove up in her motor to the old iron-barred
oak-door which opened into the panelled hall of her country
residence.
She was alone. Her maid and another servant had come down by rail
to High Wycombe and were being driven over in one of the house
conveyances from the station, a distance of five miles. The chauffeur
descended from the seat, opened the door of the car, and when she
had passed into the house, beckoned a gardener who was at work on
one of the tulip beds, to help him in with some of the luggage which
Mrs. Durlacher had brought with her.
"She's coming to stay, then?" said the gardener.
"S'pose so," replied the chauffeur. "I'd understood yesterday as she
was going to the openin' of a bazaar this afternoon--openin' by
royalty; but I got my orders this morning to fill up the tank and
come along at once, 'cos she was going out into the country. 'Ow's
that ferret of mine going on?"
"First class," said the gardener.
"Well then, as soon as I get the car cleaned this afternoon, I'm going
to have some rattin'. Here--put 'em in the 'all--here."
The gardener struggled obediently.
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