Mr. Elliot had
been unobtrusively kind and helpful from the first, she remembered.
Later, he had been indefatigable in the matter of securing workmen
for the restoration of the old house, when she made it clear to him
that she did not want an architect and preferred to hire Brookville
men exclusively. As seemed entirely natural, the minister had called
frequently to inspect the progress of the work. Twice in their rounds
together they had come upon Jim Dodge; and although the clergyman was
affable in his recognition and greeting, Lydia had been unpleasantly
surprised by the savage look on her landscape-gardener's face as he
returned the polite salutation.
"Don't you like Mr. Elliot?" she had ventured to inquire, after the
second disagreeable incident of the sort.
Jim Dodge had treated her to one of his dark-browed, incisive glances
before replying.
"I'm afraid I can't answer that question satisfactorily, Miss Orr,"
was what he said.
And Lydia, wondering, desisted from further question.
"That middle one looks some like one of the young ladies that was
here this morning," observed Martha, with the privileged familiarity
of an old servant.
"She must have dropped it," said Lydia, slowly.
"The young ladies here in the country has very bad manners,"
commented Martha, puckering her lips primly. "I wouldn't put myself
out for them, if I was you, mem."
Lydia turned the picture over and gazed abstractedly at the three
words written there: "Lest we forget!" Beneath this pertinent
quotation appeared the initials "W.
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