It was all Eugénie's doing, of course. She and Welby between them had caught the bear, tamed him, and set him to show whatever parlour tricks he possessed. Just like her! He hoped the young man understood her condescension--and that to see her and talk with her was a privilege. Involuntarily Lord Findon glanced across the room, at the _décolleté_ shoulders and buxom good looks of his wife. When Eugénie was in the house the second Lady Findon never seemed to him well dressed.
When Fenwick and Cuningham had departed--Fenwick in a glow of grateful good-humour, expressing himself effusively to his host--Madame de Pastourelles approached her father, smiling.
'The audacious rascal!' cried Lord Findon, fuming. 'He has never seen you before--and, besides, how does any one know what he can do?'
'Why, you said yourself his picture was remarkable.'
'So it is. But what's one picture? What do you think, Welby?' he said, impulsively addressing the man beside him. 'Wasn't it like his impudence?'
'Like Eugénie's kindness! It was rather charming to see his look when she said "Yes"!'
'You said "_Yes_"!' Lord Findon stared at her.
'Come with me and see what he can do in a morning.' She laid a quieting hand on her father's arm. 'You know that always amuses you. And I want to see his picture.'
'His picture is not bad,' said Lord Findon, with decision.
'There you go,' said Lord Findon--'letting me in!'
'Well, I'm off to bed.' Smiling, she gave her hand to each, knowing that she had gained her point, or would gain it. Arthur Welby, turning, watched her move away, say 'Good-night' to Lady Findon, and disappear through a distant door. Then for him, though the room was still full of people, it was vacant. He slipped away without any more 'Good-byes.'
It was Christmas Eve, and the dark had fallen. The train from Euston had just drawn up in Windermere Station, and John Fenwick, carrying his bag, was making his way among the vehicles outside the station, inquiring whether any one was going in the direction of Great Langdale, who could give him a lift. He presently found a farmer's cart bound for a village on the road, and made a bargain with the lad driving it to carry him to his destination.
They set off in bitter weather. The driver was a farmer's son who had come to the station to fetch his small brother. Fenwick and he took the little school-boy between them, to protect him as best they could from the wind and sleet. They piled some empty sacks, from the back of the cart, on their knees and shoulders; and the old grey horse set forward cautiously, feeling its way down the many hills of the Ambleside road.