This was addressed to Hermione, and Hermione answered—
"I have been busy. I do not know why Slade has not brought lights." Slade, following with an armful of wraps, cast one reproachful look. "Yes, I remember, I said I would ring," continued Hermione. "But it does not matter. We will have lights now."
"It may not matter to you. It matters a good deal to me," Mrs. Trevor responded in aggrieved tones. "After a dismal drive in the dark to come to a room looking like a tomb! I declare it gives me the cold shivers all over. Do make a blaze with the fire, Harvey. And not a sign of tea! I suppose we are not expected to care for creature-comforts. You had yours, no doubt, an hour ago."
"No; I have waited," was the frigid reply.
Mrs. Trevor showed no gratitude. She shrugged her shoulders, muttered "Economical!" and eat down with her feet on the fender. "Where is Mittie?" came next.
"I do not know."
"Banished to the housekeeper's room, no doubt!"
Hermione really was trying to be patient, in consideration of Harvey's tired look. Somehow, that which went before had drawn her nearer to her cousin. She felt as if a conspiracy were afoot to rob him for her benefit, and the better part of her nature was called up. Whatever old Mr. Dalrymple ought to have done and had not done, Hermione did not feel that Harvey was to blame for the state of things. But Mrs. Trevor's manner was exasperating to the proud girl.
"I do not know," she repeated. Mrs. Trevor turned to Slade, who had brought in the lamp and was drawing the curtains. "Tell Milton to send Miss Mittie here," she said.
Slade responded with his usual composure, but in three minutes he returned alone.