One of her own nieces, most probably.
Churchill had gone into the post-office, leaving me standing at the foot of the sign-post.

It was a pleasant summer day, the air very clear, the place very slumbrous.

I looked up the street at a pair of great stone gate-posts, august, in their way, standing distinctly aloof from the common houses, a little weather-stained, staidly lichened.

At the top of each column sat a sculptured wolf--as far as I knew, my own crest.

It struck me pleasantly that this must be the entrance of the Manor house.
The tall iron gates swung inward, and I saw a girl on a bicycle curve out, at the top of the sunny street.