The long drive in the cool of the waning sunlight was to her pure delight. The road led first through beautiful beechwoods, out into the open country where low banks, bright with wild flowers--scabious, willow-herb and yellow ragwort--divided the corn-fields, now golden and ready for harvest; up on to a wide heath where the bell heather flooded the landscape with glowing purple light--through pine-woods dim and fragrant--and so on until the carriage turned through a gateway, past a low lodge of mellow ancient brickwork, and entered a well-kept carriage drive.
A few minutes more and Philippa was being assisted out by her host, and warmly welcomed by Marion, to the accompaniment of the cheerful if noisy greetings of two West Highland terriers who squirmed and yapped in exuberant hospitality.
"At last," said Marion, embracing her fondly. "I expect you are very tired."
"Oh no," replied Philippa quickly, "I thoroughly enjoyed the journey--every moment of it."
"Come in and have some tea," said Major Heathcote.
"Isn't it too late for tea?"
"Never too late for tea with your sex, is it?" he returned, laughing. "I thought ladies always wanted tea!"
"Perhaps ours won't suit you," said Marion as they entered the hall. "Don't you like yours made in a samovar and flavoured with lemon?"
"Not a bit of it," rejoined Philippa. "Nice English tea with plenty of cream, please."
"I can promise you that. Just sit down here. Now, Bill, give her a cushion and hand her the scones. They are freshly made and hot. Try some honey with them, real heather honey from Bessmoor. Don't ask her any questions. Let her have her tea in peace, and then you can ask as many as you like."