Ida murmured a suitable response; but though she was by no means
demonstrative they were satisfied; and as they left they expressed that
satisfaction to each other.
"Oh, yes, she was glad to see us," Lady Bannerdale said; "and I like
her all the better for not meeting us half-way and for refraining from
any gushing. Poor girl! I am afraid she has been very ill, and has felt
her trouble very keenly. She is much thinner, and when she came into
the room there was an expression in her face which touched me and made
my eyes dim."
"We must look after her," remarked Lady Vayne. "There is something
weird in the idea of her living there all alone; though, of course, her
maid, Jessie, will take care of her."
Lady Bannerdale smiled.
"Ida Heron is one of those girls who are quite capable of taking care
of themselves," she said. "How wonderfully calm and self-possessed she
was. Most girls would have been rather upset, or, at any rate, a little
flurried, meeting us all so unexpectedly; but she came into the room
with the perfect unself-consciousness which marks--"
"The high-bred lady," finished Lord Bannerdale. "I wonder whether we
realise how old a family the Herons is; we are all mushrooms compared
with that slim, little girl, who is now the mistress of Herondale and
an enormous fortune."
"We shall have to find a husband for her," remarked Lady Vayne, who was
the match-maker of the locality.
Lord Bannerdale smiled.
"The trouble would be to get Miss Ida to accept him when you have found
him," he said, shrewdly. "I have an idea she would be difficult to
please; there is a little curl to those pretty lips of hers which is
tolerably significant."
"Poor girl! There is time enough yet to think of such a thing," said
Lady Bannerdale, reprovingly; but while she sat it, mother-like, she
thought that her son, Edwin, would be home from a long tour in the East
in a week or two; that he was particularly good-looking, and in the
opinion of more persons than his mother, a particularly amiable and
good fellow.
The next day there were more visitors; they all seemed as genuinely
glad at her return, and they all made as genuine overtures of
friendship. It was evident that Ida need not be alone in the world any
longer, unless she wished to be. On the morning of the third day, as
she was riding to Bryndermere, with some shopping as an excuse, she met
Mr. Wordley; a gentleman was sitting beside him who, Ida guessed, was
the architect. He proved to be no less a personage than the famous Mr.
Hartley. They had pulled up for the introduction close by the opening
on the lake; and while the architect was exchanging greetings with Ida,
his keen eyes wandered now and again to the Villa; and as Ida turned to
ride back with them, he said: "That is rather a fine place over there, Miss Heron; rather bizarre and
conspicuous, but striking and rather artistic. New, too: whose is it?"