Hermione's manner could not be called sisterly, and when she allowed him to lead her to his wife there was no warmth in her welcome. Mrs. Trevor's words, involuntarily overheard, did not heat her into outward anger or freeze her into rigidity; and she came forward gracefully as usual, with only a slight deepening of colour; but there was a calm dignity, a displeased distance, in her bearing, curious in one so young.
Julia did not know what to make of it. Her face, which had lighted up, fell quickly, and she scanned Hermione inquiringly as their hands met. Mrs. Trevor's lips wore an odd expression, like one bracing herself for a conflict. She had expected a pretty young girl, whom she might patronise agreeably out of the plenitude of her worldly experience; and this stately young creature seemed hardly susceptible to patronage. Hermione had often looked sweeter, sunnier, more lovable than at this moment, but perhaps seldom more beautiful. And Mrs. Trevor did not like beautiful women. She objected to being outshone.
Remarks trickled slowly from one to another, Hermione speaking just so much as was necessary, not more. She seated herself on the sofa, as if receiving guests, and she made polite conversation in a chilled and chilling manner which Mrs. Trevor thoroughly understood. "That girl has been spoilt, and needs putting in her right place," the widow thought. "Julia will never succeed; she lets things go too easily. I shall have to take her in hand myself."
Queries as to the journey were answered, and Hermione explained her own absence at the moment of arrival, apologising for it in quiet tones. She had not expected their train to be so early, she said. Then Mittie's name came up, with wonderings as to what could have become of her, in the midst of which Mittie herself came flying through the conservatory, to deposit her little person in the big armchair which had always been Mr. Dalrymple's.
Harvey saw and understood Hermione's look. "Come here, you witch," he said; "I want to know what you have been about." But Mittie declined to be dislodged.
"No; I like this best," she said. "You always kiss me, and scrub so with your moustache. I mean to sit here. I've been out in the garden, and it's very pretty. It's a nice place to live in, I think. And there's a person that I like very much. Her name is 'only Marjory,' she says. That does sound so funny, but I love her. She's just as pale as can be, and her eyes look so big and tired, and she's not like nobody else I ever saw. I like her ever so much better than cousin Hermione."
"That child wants bringing into order, Francesca," Harvey said, in a displeased tone.
"She's too much for me. Hold your tongue, Mittie, and don't be rude, or I shall send you to bed."
Mittie did not hold her tongue. She responded simply, "Then I shall cry, mother!" and examined Hermione in a prolonged gaze.
The entrance of tea effected a diversion. Slade hesitated a moment where to place the basket-table, glancing from his former to his present mistress; but Julia paid no attention, and Hermione, as a matter of course, signed him to the usual place. Mrs. Trevor noticed this, with a strengthening of her previous determination. She noted, too, the calm air of possessorship with which Hermione dispensed tea and offered cake. Unmistakably the young girl was, in her own eyes, hostess still. The time had scarcely come yet, however, for speech, and nothing would have been said but for the presence of that embarrassing child. Mittie munched and considered, curled up in the big armchair, with her tumbled mass of flaxen hair and her soft wide-open eyes.