Here was another of those impressive square halls, on the other side of
the suddenly opened door of Lane End House. But Edwin was now getting
accustomed to square halls. Nevertheless he quaked as he stood on the
threshold. An absurd young man! He wondered whether he would ever
experience the sensation of feeling authentically grown-up. Behind him
in the summer twilight lay the large oval lawn, and the gates which once
had doubtless marked the end of Manor Lane--now Oak Street. And
actually he had an impulse to rush back upon his steps, and bring on
himself eternal shame. The servant, however, primly held him with her
eyes alone, and he submitted to her sway.
"Mr Charles in?" he inquired glumly, affecting nonchalance.
The servant bowed her head with a certain condescending deference, as
who should say: "Do not let us pretend that they are not expecting you."
A door to the right opened. Janet was revealed, and, behind her,
Charlie. Both were laughing. There was a sound of a piano. As soon as
Charlie caught sight of Edwin he exclaimed to Janet--
"Where's my bob?"
"Charlie!" she protested, checking her laughter.
"Why! What have I said?" Charlie inquired, with mock innocence,
perceiving that he had been indiscreet, and trying to remedy his rash
mistake. "Surely I can say `bob'!"
Edwin understood nothing of this brief passage. Janet, ignoring Charlie
and dismissing the servant with an imperceptible sign, advanced to the
visitor. She was dressed in white, and Edwin considered her to be
extraordinarily graceful, dignified, sweet, and welcoming. There was a
peculiar charm in the way in which her skirts half-reluctantly followed
her along the carpet, causing beautiful curves of drapery from the
waist. And her smile was so warm and so sincere! For the moment she
really felt that Edwin's presence in the house satisfied the keenest of
her desires, and of course her face generously expressed what she felt.
"Well, Miss Orgreave," Edwin grinned. "Here I am, you see!"
"And we're delighted," said Janet simply, taking his hand. She might
have amiably teased him about the protracted difficulties of getting
him. She might have hinted an agreeable petulance against the fact that
the brother had succeeded where the sister had failed. Her sisterly
manner to Charlie a little earlier had perhaps shown flashes of such
thoughts in her mind. But no. In the presence of Edwin, Janet's
extreme good-nature forgot everything save that he was there, a stranger
to be received and cherished.
"Here! Give us that tile," said Charlie.
"Beautiful evening," Edwin observed.
"Oh! Isn't it!" breathed Janet, in ecstasy, and gazed from the front
door into the western sky. "We were out on the lawn, but mother said it
was damp. It wasn't," she laughed. "But if you think it's damp, it is
damp, isn't it? Will you come and see mother? Charlie, you can leave
the front door open."
Edwin said to himself that she had all the attractiveness of a girl and
of a woman. She preceded him towards the door to the right. Charlie
hovered behind, on springs. Edwin, nervously pulling out his
handkerchief and putting it back, had a confused vision of the hall full
of little pictures, plates, stools, rugs, and old sword-sheaths. There
seemed to him to be far more knick-knacks in that hall than in the whole
of his father's house; Mr Orgreave's ingeniously contrived bookshelves
were simply overlaid and smothered in knick-knacks. Janet pushed at the
door, and the sound of the piano suddenly increased in volume.
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