Edward Phillips Oppenheim

The Yellow House Edward Phillips Oppenheim

POSITIVELY every one, with two unimportant exceptions, had called upon us. The Countesshad driven over from Sysington Hall, twelve miles away, with two anæmic-lookingdaughters, who had gushed over our late roses and the cedar trees which shaded the lawn. The Holgates of Holgate Brand and Lady Naselton of Naselton had presented themselves onthe same afternoon. Many others had come in their train, for what these very great peopledid the neighborhood was bound to endorse. There was a little veiled anxiety, a fewelaborately careless questions as to the spelling of our name; but when my father hadmentioned the second "f," and made a casual allusion to the Warwickshire Ffolliots-withwhom we were not indeed on speaking terms, but who were certainly our cousins-adistinct breath of relief was followed by a gush of mild cordiality. There were wrongFfolliots and right Ffolliots. We belonged to the latter. No one had made a mistake orcompromised themselves in any way by leaving their cards upon a small country vicar andhis daughters. And earlier callers went away and spread a favorable report. Those whowere hesitating, hesitated no longer. Our little carriage drive, very steep and very hard toturn in, was cut up with the wheels of many chariots. The whole county within a reasonabledistance came, with two exceptions. And those two exceptions were Mr. Bruce Deville ofDeville Court, on the borders of whose domain our little church and vicarage lay, and thewoman who dwelt in the "Yellow House."