CHAPTER TENIt was afternoon before they reached Easton Neston.
The drive had been a cold one and the Countess Festetics complained bitterly during the last part of the journey. She was not a very cheerful companion, for when she was not moaning she was sneezing and when she was not sneezing she was coughing.
“This terrible climate,” she kept saying over and over again, as if it was Gisela’s fault that the wind seemed to penetrate through the closed windows of the carriage and that every so often a scud of rain beat against the glass.
If Gisela had not been so nervous and apprehensive as to what was waiting for them at Easton Neston, she would have been glad when the drive was over. But as they turned up the long drive and saw the house, beautiful with its square simplicity and its mello
