The Manor house of Scarth on an autumn morning of drifting leaves and mist, was an old house which seemed to shrug its shoulders against the biting wind blowing up from the saltings and the sea and the scarlet creeper covering its walls was shedding fast and would soon leave the walls naked.
A man inside the house who had been looking out of a window, turned back from it towards the room.
"You've asked my advice, sir, and I think you have no option but to let her come."
Richard Ayreton, sitting over the fire, stirred a little.
"She shall come, I've already written," he said, but his voice was uneasy, "but—you know the autumn's not the time."
The other had a wary look, as if something had come unbidden to his mind and that the thought of it didn't please him. He chose his words carefully before answering.
"No one's likely to believe this business or anyone here likely to tell her anything about it. People don't speak of it in these parts."
Ayreton banged his hands down onto his knees. "I find it extraordinary that I should believe in it myself," he said.
"My family have, of course, but I've always reckoned myself too hard-headed."
Shrilly beside him the telephone rang and he answered it. "A telegram? Yes, I've got it, thank you."
As he hung up the receiver he looked across at Nick Borrodale. "It's sooner than we thought. Tomorrow she'll be coming and the child of course."
Nick spoke cheerfully. "It'll be good for you, sir," he said, "since you've been ill it's lonely here and I can't be with you much because of the increasing work on the farm. Besides I'm only your agent, and you say you like this niece of yours." He lit a cigarette as he turned to go. "Try not to worry, sir," he said, "I'll do all I can to see—to take care of everything."
Francesca Newtownly, widowed some years after the war, had now found herself without a home, and had turned to the one relation she had, to give her houseroom until such time as she could find the kind of small place she could afford. Her son, now seven years old, would go to boarding school after Christmas.
When Nick met her at the station the next day, he found she was small and young and that her son was like her in face. "You'll both do your uncle good," said Nick, "he's not very fit now and can't get around for the time being."
