She did not ask why, but smiled gently.
"The elder daughter is a pushing forward person. You might find her troublesome."
That brought a smile of a different type. As Miss Stirling of Lynnthorpe she had had to do with pushing persons; and, despite her shy humility, she knew how to hold her own.
"I think there is no danger," she said.
"You have not seen the young woman. She is capable of a good deal. In any case, I wish you to keep her at a distance. The less you have to say to them, the better I shall be pleased." His forehead was all over wrinkles again; but he laid a kind hand on her arm. "My dear child, you do not look well to-day. What is the matter?"
She could bear up better against anything than sympathy, and her throat ached fiercely. "I'm a little—tired," she said.
"Try to have a good rest by-and-by. You must not get over-done."
But at present no respite was possible. Outside the study door she was seized on by Mrs. Stirling.
"Hamilton and I have to be off. He declares it is going to rain. My dear—" in a whisper—"do you like that widow? I don't. She's a mass of affectations. How in the world she managed to get hold of your father—but he is as soon deluded as most men. And after a fashion she is clever. What made you propose to take her for a round?"
"She seemed to expect it."