The Colonel had brought his daughter to the front door, and there had left her. She was feeling a little shy by this time; but shyness did not mean awkwardness in her case. Dorothea's entrance was all that it should have been; quiet, unobtrusive and self-possessed—not self-conscious. Even when wearing her glasses, she could not see far across the large drawing-room; and her first impression was of an indefinite crowd of people. For a moment she hesitated, not knowing whom to accost; and impulsive Mrs. Effingham hurried towards her.
"My dear, you have come at last. My dear, how do you do? I am so glad. I have been longing to meet you,—to thank you. Yes, indeed, you know well that you saved my life that day at the risk of your own. It was a perfect marvel that we were not both killed," Mrs. Effingham went on, with eager gratification in the idea. To have passed through a peril and come out unhurt is particularly gratifying to some minds, and the greater the peril, the more eminent becomes the position of the individual who has escaped.
"It was very kind of you to call. I would have come sooner if I had been able," Dorothea said in her soft, quiet voice.
"The kindness was all the other way, my dear Miss Tracy. I assure you, I have been telling my friends about it,—telling them they must welcome you as a heroine. I can never thank you enough, but I shall never forget! We must always be friends. Now you will let me introduce you. Of course introductions are not the fashion; but sometimes, you know—" apologised Mrs. Effingham, who never could resist naming everybody to everybody. "And we are all friends here, or, at least, I am sure we shall be. This is Miss Henniker, a very old friend of mine. Miss Claughton and Mr. Claughton You saw the other Mr. Claughton on Christmas Day,—the clergyman who helped me up, after you had rescued me so bravely, my dear. This is his brother—and sister. I think you and Emmeline Claughton will exactly suit one another. I should like you to be friends."
Dorothea found all this rather embarrassing, while Emmeline looked unapproachably calm and dignified. Mr. Claughton, under his polite demeanour, highly enjoyed the scene. Mrs. Effingham's beaming face clouded over faintly, as she glanced from one to another.
[CHAPTER VIII]
AFTERNOON TEA
"NOW you will sit down, and have some tea," Mrs. Effingham said to Dorothea. "Yes, here—by Emmeline—Miss Claughton, I mean. My dear, pray be kind," she whispered distressfully to the latter, bending close to pick up a fallen antimacassar. Mervyn, starting forward to forestall her, heard the small petition, and noted Emmeline's irresponsive gravity. "Too bad of Em!" he told himself, with a little twirl of his fair moustache, to hide the smile behind it.
Dorothea took the seat indicated, and Emmeline, turning towards her, made a distantly courteous remark upon the weather.