"Nothing very particular," I said, and I felt myself get red. I should
not have liked mamma to know my thoughts--I was rehearsing for the
hundredth time the scene of my first meeting with the Whytes, or rather,
I should say, of their first meeting _me_. Just as mamma spoke I was
wondering how I could persuade papa to let me ride over with him before
mamma paid her more formal call at the Yew Trees.
Mamma smiled but did not press for an answer.
"I must go and order dinner," she said, rising from her seat rather
wearily. Papa had already gone out. "How nice it will be when you are
grown up, my Sweet Content, and able to help me with the housekeeping."
"Oh dear, I hope you will have a housekeeper when you get tired of it,"
I said. "You never need count upon me for anything to do with eating
and cooking, mamma. I should hate ordering dinners and looking over the
butcher's and grocer's books. You wouldn't like to see me a second Anna
Gale, I hope?"
"No, indeed, dear; that you never could be. Poor Anna has no brains,
and she is so very dowdy--though, perhaps that sounds unkind, for she is
a very good girl," and mamma looked rather shocked at herself.
"But one may be good without being _quite_ so dull and `dowdy,'" I said,
coaxingly.
Mamma stooped to kiss me as she passed my chair. "I trust you will
never have to do any uncongenial work, my darling," she said. "You
shall not if I can help it."
I remained where I was for a minute or two, thinking what I would best
like to do that morning. It was a holiday, for my daily governess had
got a slight cold and sore throat, and till _quite_ satisfied that it
was nothing infectious mamma had decided that she had better not come.
I was rather sorry than otherwise, for I by no means disliked my
lessons, and in dull weather the time was apt to hang heavily. There
was no question of my going out for a ride, for, though not actually
raining, it looked as if it might do so any moment.
"I may as well do the flowers in the drawing-room," I said to myself.
This was one of the few things I did regularly for mamma, and I am
afraid its being regularly done was greatly owing to my _liking_ it! I
sauntered into the conservatory, glancing round to see what flowers I
could cut without spoiling the appearance there; then through the
conservatory, I sauntered on into the drawing-room. The housemaid, a
young girl, whom I was not at all in awe of, was giving the room its
morning cleaning. It was _nearly_ done, but there remained the last
touches--the laying down the hearthrug and removing one or two
dust-sheets, and replacing some of the ornaments lying about--without
which, however clean a room really is, it looks, of course, messy and
disorderly.
"Oh, Eliza, why isn't the drawing-room done?" I exclaimed. "I want to
arrange the flowers, and I can't have you fussing about while I am doing
them. You must leave it for a quarter of an hour."
The girl looked round regretfully.
"I'd have done in five minutes, Miss Connie," she said; "I would indeed.
I'm no later than usual, but you don't often come in here so early; and
the fire isn't lighted, and you with your cold," she added, as if that
would decide matters.
"Oh, bother my cold," I said. "It's not chilly in here with the door
open into the conservatory. I _must_ do the Bowers now, or I can't do
them at all, and those in the glasses are very withered."
Eliza gave in. But as she was turning away, leaving her dustpan and
brushes behind her, she stopped short again.
"Oh, Miss Connie!" she exclaimed, "your frock's all out of the gathers
at the left side; and there's a hole in your elbow."
"I know," I said, composedly; "I caught it in the balusters--the skirt I
mean; but I didn't know about the elbow. That's Prue's fault, but it
doesn't matter; I'll change it before luncheon;" and I set to work at my
flowers.
It was interesting work; there was a tap where you could draw cold water
in the conservatory, and a little table on which I always arranged the
flowers. And I had no trouble in getting rid of the withered ones; I
threw them in a heap on the floor, and the gardener carried them away.
But, all the same, I made myself rather dirty; my hands were smudged
with mould, and some of it had got on to my face by the time I was half
through my task. And as I had particular ideas about arranging the
colours, and so on, I was very deliberate in my movements. Quite half
an hour must have passed, and I had not begun to think of calling Eliza
back to finish putting the drawing-room in order, when there came a ring
at the front-door bell.
"Who can that be?" I thought to myself, though without much interest in
the matter. "Some one ringing by mistake for the surgery-bell; people
are so stupid."
For rings at the front-door were comparatively rare, and really confined
to the postmen and visitors for mamma, as, besides the surgery-bell,
there is a side-door for tradespeople.
I thought no more about it, till suddenly the drawing-room door opened,
and I heard Benjamin the "boy"--Benjamin was not even a "buttons," and
he only answered the front-door bell in the morning, while Eliza was
busy "with the rooms," as housemaids say--in colloquy with some person
or persons unseen.
"Step this way, please sir," he was saying with his broadest accent, as
I ran forward, torn frock, dirty hands, smudged face and all, to see who
it could possibly be.
Oh, dear! _How_ I wished I had not yielded to my curiosity; how I
wished I had run out by the door of the conservatory into the garden;
how I wished I had not interrupted Eliza at her work, which would by
this time have been neatly accomplished!
For there stood before me a tall, handsome man, younger-looking than
papa--very young-looking to be the father of the girl at his side--a
girl quite half a head taller than I, with grave, considerate eyes, and
a quiet, pale face. She was dressed very simply, but with extreme
neatness; all that, I took in, in less than an instant, even while I
felt my face growing scarlet, and I seemed conscious of but one intense
wish--that the ground would open and swallow me and the drawing-room up!
Yes--the room was worse than I--I did not care so much for my own
appearance at any time, but the drawing-room--It looked so messy and
horrid--so _common_, too--"as if we only kept one servant," I said to
myself, "and could not afford to have the fire lighted early." And to
know that it was all my own doing!
A smile flickered over the gentleman's face; he must have seen how
wretchedly awkward and ashamed I looked--my burning cheeks must have
told their own tale. But the girl only looked at me gravely, though
very gently. I am sure she was as sorry for me as she could be.
"I am afraid," Captain Whyte said at last--all this time I was blocking
up the doorway, remember--"that we are taking a great liberty in
disturbing Mrs Percy so very early, but--"
Here the girl interrupted.
"You are busy arranging your flowers," she said. "_May_ we look at the
conservatory? Perhaps, papa, Miss Percy can tell us all we want to
know?"
And before I knew where I was she had crossed the room, not seeming even
to _see_ that it was in a mess, and we were all three standing in the
conservatory, which, of course, though rather untidy, did not look
nearly so bad as the drawing-room.
"_How_ pretty your flowers are!" she went on, and one could see that she
meant it. "Papa, do look at those begonias--but--shouldn't we introduce
ourselves first?" And she gave a nice little kind sort of laugh.
"I know who you are," I said, as I awkwardly rubbed my hands on my apron
to clean them from the mould. "I--I can't shake hands--but--it's all my
fault that the fire isn't lighted, and the room so messy. Mamma will be
very vexed--she's always ready as early as this to see any one."
"We have unfortunately lost the address of the `odd man' that Dr Percy
was so good as to give us, and we find ourselves sadly in want of his
services already," said Captain Whyte. "There are one or two other
points we should be grateful for a little advice about, too, but these
can wait."
I was beginning to recover my presence of mind a little by this time,
though with it, alas! an increased feeling of mortification.
"I will fetch mamma," I began; but Captain Whyte interrupted: "Please
don't disturb her," he said.