not go to tea with Mrs. Talmage Eglinton to-day.—Yours, Alec Forsyth.”
The Duke crushed the letter back into his pocket, and came to a resolution.
“I’ll run up to town to-morrow and call on the Shermans,” he said to himself. “And now I’ll do the proper thing, and go to church. I’m not going to crouch in corners because of that patriarchal old fiend at the Cecil.”
The church at which generations of Hanburys had worshiped was in the center of Tarrant village, a mile from the lodge gates, but there was a short cut to it across the park. This was the route taken by the Duke, who first crossed the greensward and then passed out by a private wicket into the road after traversing the belt of copse that fringed the demesne. The villagers, who had waited for his coming, standing bare-headed in the churchyard, were a little disappointed that he had not driven up in full state. But the solitary gentleman limping up the path atoned for the lack of ceremony and won their hearts by his friendly smile; and a handshake to one or two of the older inhabitants, whom he reremembered as a boy, clinched the matter.
[55]
