Part 6 (1/2)

”But, mamma, I should think you might get another, and let that one go to the kitchen.”

”And then, wouldn't you like me to buy a new hall cloth? there is very nearly a hole in that.”

”Oh yes, mamma!”

”I cannot do it, children. I am not as rich as your Aunt Candy. You must be contented to let things be as they are.”

The girls seemed to take it as a grave fact, to judge by their faces.

”And I think all this is very foolish talking and feeling. People are not any better for being rich.”

”But they are a great deal happier,” said Let.i.tia.

”I don't know, I am sure. I never was tried. I think you had better put the thought out of your heads. I should be sorry if you were not as happy as your cousin, and with as much reason.”

”Mamma's being sorry doesn't help the matter,” said Let.i.tia, softly. ”I know I should be happier if I had what I want. It is just nonsense to say I should not. And mamma would herself.”

That evening, the end of the week it was, the newspaper rewarded the first eyes that looked at its columns, with the intelligence that the _City of Pride_ had been telegraphed. She would be in that night. And the list of pa.s.sengers duly showed the names of Mrs. Candy and daughter. The family could hardly wait over Sunday now. Monday morning's train, they settled it, would bring the travellers. Sunday was spent in a flutter. But, however, that Monday, as well as that Sunday, was a lost day. The was.h.i.+ng was put off, and a special dinner cooked, in vain. The children stayed at home and did not go to school, and did nothing. n.o.body did anything to speak of. To be sure, there was a great deal of running up and down stairs; setting and clearing tables; going to and from the post-office; but when night came, the house and everything in it was just where the morning had found them; only, all the humanity in it was tired with looking out of windows.

”That's the worst of expecting people!” Mrs. Englefield observed, as she wearily put herself in an arm-chair, and Let.i.tia drew the window curtains. ”You never know what to do, and the thing you do is sure to be the wrong thing. Here Judith might as well have done her was.h.i.+ng as not; and now it's to do to-morrow, when we don't want it in the way, and it will be in the way.”

”Don't you think they will come to-night, mamma?” said Matilda.

”I don't know, I am sure. I know no more than you do. How can I tell?

Only don't ask me any more questions.”

”Would you have tea yet, mamma?” said Let.i.tia.

”There's a question, now! I tell you, don't ask me. Just when you like.”

”There's no train due for a good while, mamma; they _couldn't_ come for two or three hours. I think we had better have tea.”

So she went off to prepare it, just as Matilda who had put her face outside of the window curtain, proclaimed that somebody was coming to the door.

”Only one person though, mamma. Mamma! it's Miss Redwood--Mr.

Richmond's Miss Redwood.”

”It wanted but that!” Mrs. Englefield exclaimed, with a sort of resigned despair. ”Let her in, Matilda. I locked the door.”

The person who followed Matilda to the sitting-room was a slim woman, in black costume, neither new nor fas.h.i.+onable. Indeed, it had no such pretensions; for the fas.h.i.+on at that time was for small bonnets, but Miss Redwood's shadowed her face with a reminiscence of the coal-scuttle shapes, once worn many years before. The face under the bonnet was thin and sharp-featured; yet a certain delicate softness of skin saved it from being harsh; there was even a little peachy bloom on the cheeks. The eyes were soft and keen at once; at least there was no want of benevolence in them, while their glance was swift and shrewd enough, and full of business activity.

”Miss Redwood, how do you do? I am glad to see you. Do sit down,” was Mrs. Englefield's salutation, made without rising.

”How do you do, Mis' Englefield? Why--seems as if you was expectin'

folks here?”

”Just what we are doing; and it is some of the hardest work one can do.”

”Depends on who you expect, seems to me. And I guess 'tain't harder work than what I've been doing to-day. I've been makin' soap. Got it done, too. And 'tain't to do agin till this time next year comes round.”