So it was arranged. The menu took a little longer to plan; and with cooking, dusting, and dressing, the morning flew swiftly by. One might have supposed we were preparing for a royal visit.
Eleven o’clock struck,—half-past eleven. Robin and Ernie in their pretty blue sailor-suits flashed down to the kitchen for inspection.
“Will she be here soon?” pranced Robin. His eyes were bright as stars, his cheeks as pink as roses.
“I think so,” answered mother. “Run up to the nursery now, where you can watch from the window.”
At quarter to twelve precisely there sounded the clatter of horses’ feet upon the asphalt. Shall I confess it? Interrupting a hasty toilet I ran to the window, too, and peeped out like any child.
A hansom-cab, as Robin had predicted, was drawn up before our door. From it stepped a middle-aged lady. She was tall, somewhat spare, attired in conventional black. From the distance at which I surveyed her she looked a little, just a little, like—Miss Brown! She mounted the steps and rang the bell.
The excitement died from my brain. A chill feeling of disappointment crept over me. Was this the phœnix? this the invisible mentor under whose dicta our household had trembled for so many months? A minute later the sound of subdued greeting floated up from the hall below.
“How do you do, Mrs. Hudson?”
“How do you do, Mrs. Bo-gardus?”
I went into the nursery to capture Robin and give his locks one final dab before lunch should be announced.