"IT is five o'clock, I do believe," said Mrs. Trevelyan.
She slowly lifted her eyes from the book which had held her enchained during an hour past; eyes exactly like those of her son Jem in shape and colouring, but at this moment ineffably dreamy. It was not Mrs. Trevelyan's wont to indulge in absent attitudes for the purpose of impressing other people, after the fashion of Sybella Devereux: but she was of a genuinely dreamy nature, given to losing herself in vague trains of ideas, to the complete exclusion of her surroundings. This tendency does not always imply profound thought; in fact, it very often does not mean "thought" at all, in the strict sense of the word. It only means a certain readiness—possibly a weak readiness—to be swept away by any little streamlet of notions or emotions, no matter how trivial. The veriest child-story in pink or blue cover had power to withdraw all Mrs. Trevelyan's faculties from the outer world; and if she began to consider the make of her next bonnet she was plunged into an abyss of cogitation.
But on the other hand, she was not a vapid women; she read a good deal besides stories; and she was capable to some extent of following out a chain of mental observations.
"Five o'clock, I do believe," she repeated, as the hall clock boomed out the hour.
Her eyes travelled to the hearth-rug, and were there arrested by a fine black Cocker spaniel of solid make, lying, nose on paws, in a position of comfort.
"Prince! Only think! The little girl will be here directly."
Prince was a gentleman, born and bred. He replied at once to the remark, left his cosy corner, and came to his mistress' side.
Though past fifty, she was still slight in figure, and active when not dreaming. She wore perpetual black, and it suited well the pale brown hair, arranged in smooth bands on either side of her forehead. A modified widow's cap had been her headgear for many years, and nobody would have liked anything else. Her movements were very gentle, ladylike, and quiet.
The room was small, too full of furniture, and overcrowded with knick-knacks. A continuous sheet of portraits in every variety of frame clothed the walls, and all gaps were filled up with brackets or hanging plates of old china. One window overlooked the village street, with a neat front garden and a goodly bank of evergreens between; the other window, a bow, opened upon a sloping lawn. Both house and garden were upon a small scale, but both also were prettily designed.
"Only a few minutes more, Prince. We shall like to have her, shall we not? And you will be a dear good dog, and not bark or frighten the little girl. Children don't like to be frightened, you know. So you must be very gentle to Jean."