The astonishing news that had come to Merry Meetings, was soon shared by the entire village, thanks to Susan’s sister, who filled the post of messenger and charwoman. The letter was warmly discussed, in the sanded parlour of The Cause is Altered inn, over the counter at Hogben’s the grocer, at the rectory, at Dr. Banks’, and also by the Trevors--the family at the hall--a family to whom the Misses Gordon were indebted for most of their trivial gaieties. Opinion, whether in hall or tap-room, was for once unanimous. Of course one of the Gordons must accept her rich uncle’s offer, and that without any foolish or unnecessary delay. Although it was a wet afternoon, Cara and Sophy Trevor, Mrs. Banks, the rector, and Mrs. Kerry, arrived almost simultaneously at Merry Meetings, and half filled the drawing-room; which was of moderate size, with a southern aspect, and deep comfortable window-seats. The furniture was old-fashioned, and the carpet threadbare, but a few wicker chairs, a couple of Persian rugs, a quantity of pictures, books, flowers, and needlework, covered many deficiencies; it was the general sitting-room of the family, and if not always perfectly tidy, was at any rate delightfully home-like, vastly different to so many of its name-sakes, which have a fire on stated days; gaunt, formal apartments, solely devoted to visitors. Mrs. Gordon’s friends dropped in at all hours, but chiefly at five o’clock, and the tea and hot cakes, dispensed at Merry Meetings, were considered unequalled in those parts. Behold a selection of Mrs. Gordon’s nearest neighbours gathered eagerly round her hearth, whilst Honor made tea in thin, old shallow cups. “We all met at the gate!” explained Cara Trevor, “and have come, as you see, to call on you in a body, to hear your news with our very own ears. Is it true, dear lady, that one of the girls is going out to India immediately?” “Yes,” replied Mrs. Gordon. “I heard from my sister-in-law this morning, she and my brother are most anxious to have one of their nieces on a visit; they give us very short notice--only a fortnight. Honor, my love, Cara will take another cake.” “No, no, thank you,” cried Miss Trevor, impatiently. “Pray do go on, and tell me all about this delightful invitation, Honor. Where is your uncle; in what part of India?” “He is at Shirani, a hill station, most of the year. I believe he has rather a good appointment, something to do with the revenue.” “I know all about Shirani,” answered Sophy Trevor, with an air of unusual importance. “We had a cousin quartered there once; it is a capital place for shooting, dancing, picnics, and tennis-parties--so different to this dead and alive Hoyle. It really ought to be spelt without the _y_. I wish some one would ask _me_ to India. I would be ready to start to-night, with just a couple of basket-trunks and a dressing-bag. Which of you is going? I suppose you have not thought of it yet?” but she looked straight at Honor.