This was irresistible; and Frank decided on riding the groom's
horse, and leaving him to conduct Anne to the rendezvous in the
afternoon--for Charlie had been at Sandhurst for the last week--
running in first to impart the change of scheme to her, as she was
performing her daily task of reading to his mother.

He did so thus: "I say, Anne, Cecil wants to go to Sirenwood first
to get a book, so Lee will bring you to meet us at the Beeches at
2.30."

"Are you going to luncheon at Sirenwood?" asked Mrs. Poynsett.

"Yes; Cecil wants to go," said the dutiful younger brother.

"I wish you would ask Cecil to come in. Raymond put himself into
such a state of mind at finding me reading Madame de Sevigne, that I
am afraid he carried off her books summarily, though I told him I
was glad of a little space for my old favourites."

Cecil was, however, mounted by the time Frank came out, and they
cantered away together, reaching the portico of Sirenwood in about
twenty minutes.

Cecil had never been in the house before, having only left her card,
though she had often met the sisters. She found herself in a
carpeted hall, like a supplementary sitting-room, where two
gentlemen had been leaning over the wide hearth. One, a handsome
benignant-looking old man, with a ruddy face and abundant white
whiskers, came forward with a hearty greeting. "Ah! young Mrs.
Poynsett! Delighted to see you!--Frank Charnock, you're come in
good time; we are just going down to see the puppies before
luncheon. Only I'll take Mrs. Poynsett to the ladies first.
Duncombe, you don't know Mrs. Raymond Poynsett--one must not say
senior bride, but the senior's bride. Is that right?"

"No papa," said a bright voice from the stairs, "you haven't it at
all right; Mrs. Charnock Poynsett, if you please--isn't it?"

"I believe so," replied Cecil. "Charnock always seems my right
name."

"And you have all the right to retain it that Mrs. Poynsett had to
keep hers," said Lady Tyrrell, as they went up-stairs to her
bedroom. "How is she?"

"As usual, thank you; always on the sofa."

"But managing everything from it?"

"Oh, yes."

"Never was there such a set of devoted sons, models for the
neighbourhood."

Cecil felt a sense of something chiming in with her sources of
vexation, but she only answered, "They are passionately fond of
her."

"Talk of despotism! Commend me to an invalid! Ah! how delightfully
you contrive to keep your hair in order!