The beauty did not so move the mother. She was embarrassed and shrank when the coachman with an authoritative air approached them.
“Mrs. Boyd?” tentatively. There had been but few passengers and they had gone their way.
She glanced timidly at Lilian who answered for her.
“Give me your checks, please, and I will order the trunks sent up.”
“There is only one,” in a deprecating tone.
Lilian was glad she had insisted on a nice new trunk.
“This way please,” and he took the girl’s satchel. Mrs. Boyd followed rather than led, but her daughter stood aside so that she should be assisted in first.
“What a beautiful town!” she exclaimed involuntarily. She had a feeling that they were recovering from a reverse of fortune and this was their rightful place. Then she smiled at the absurdity.
Mount Morris Seminary was rather at the lower part of the town, and a long level stretched between that and the river, broken by a few clumps of shrubbery. The house was a handsome old style building, colonial in its aspect with its broad piazza and fluted columns going up to the second story.
There was an imposing entrance, but the porte cochere was at the side where the wide screen door showed a sort of reception hall, furnished with willow and splint belongings, a table with magazines and papers and two great jars of ferns.