Mrs. Chadwick sprang up to greet them. "This is nice!" she cried, and her knitting trailed behind her as she came so that Barbara, laughing, stooped to catch and pick it up as she followed her; "I was expecting you! How nice and dear of you! On this hot day! I always think the very fishes must feel warm on a day like this! Or could they, do you think?--Dear Roger!" There was an evident altering in Mrs. Chadwick's manner towards him since the meeting in the Park. She was, with all her fluster, manifestly glad to see him.
Palgrave had hoisted himself to his feet and now stood beside Adrienne, eyeing them as a faithful hound eyes suspicious visitors.
"Isn't it lovely in the shade," Mrs. Chadwick continued, drawing them into it. "Adrienne darling, Aunt Monica after all. And we were afraid the heat might keep you away. I suppose the hill was very hot, Monica?" Adrienne was still, apparently, something of an invalid, for she did not rise to greet them. Neither did she speak as she held out her hand to each of them in turn, and while an enveloping smile dwelt fondly on Mrs. Averil, she made no attempt to smile at Oldmeadow.
He found himself observing her with a sort of wonder. All the flaws and deformities of her maternity had fallen from her and she had the appearance almost of beauty. Yet he had never so little liked her face. Her dimly patterned features made him think of a Chinese picture he had once seen where, on a moth-wing background, pale chrysanthemums, mauvy-pink, a disk of carved jade with cord and tassel and a narrow ivory box softly spotted with darkness, conveyed in their seeming triviality an impression almost sinister of impersonality and magic. There was as little feeling in her face. It was like a mask.
"Where's Nancy?" Barney asked. He had got up and joined them, giving Oldmeadow's hand, as they met, a curiously lifeless shake.
"She had letters to write," said Mrs. Averil.
"Why, I thought we'd arranged she was to come up and walk round the farm after tea with me," said Barney and as he spoke Oldmeadow noted that Adrienne turned her head slowly, somewhat as she had done on the ominous morning in March, and rested her eyes upon him.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Mrs. Averil cheerfully. "She must have misunderstood. She had these letters to finish for the post."