Everyone is talking about them."
They were joined in a few minutes by a prim, dignified little lady,
ridiculously like Mr. Pengarth, whom he called sister, and she Miss
Rachael. Juliet walked down the garden between them.
"Sister," Mr. Pengarth said, "Juliet has come today to see me on
business. In effect, she has come to remind me that she is grown up."
"Grown up," Miss Rachael protested vigorously, "rubbish!"
"I am nineteen years old," Juliet declared.
"And what if you are," Miss Rachael replied briskly. "In my young days
we were in the nursery at nineteen."
"Quite so," Mr. Pengarth assented with relief. "You took me by storm
just now, Miss Juliet. After all, you are only a child."
"I am old enough to feel and to mean all that I said to you, Mr.
Pengarth," she answered gravely. "And that reminds me, too--there was
something else I meant to ask you."
"Sister," Mr. Pengarth said, "have you ordered the wine and the cake?"
"Bless me, no!" Miss Rachael declared. "It shall be ready in five
minutes."
She entered the house. Mr. Pengarth stooped to pick some lavender.
"The only time I ever saw Sir Wingrave Seton," she said, "was on the
day before I was told that a relation of my father had been found, who
was willing to take charge of me. There was a younger man with him,
someone very, very different from Sir Wingrave. Do you know who he
was?"
"A sort of secretary of Sir Wingrave, I believe, dear.
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