The great room into which Beth was ushered—really a suite of rooms which had been thrown into one vast apartment—tapered away from a first appearance of dim grandeur to a sunny point, where sat a huge old woman, in a huge morris chair, with her gouty feet in huge slippers on a stool, while a green and red parrot, hanging upside down from its perch, was in a big gilded cage in the bow window.
Mrs. Severn was a broad-faced woman, with several small wens on her cheeks, who would have been very coarse-featured, indeed, had it not been for the cheerful smile with which she welcomed Beth.
But she could welcome her in no other way at first, for as the girl marched down the long room the parrot, still upside down, sang out:
“Here comes the bride!” and then, in the shrillest possible whistle, and much out of tune, vented the Bridal March in a most deafening fashion.
Beth could see that its mistress was trying to quiet the parrot. She could see Mrs. Severn’s lips move, and a frown came upon her brow, above which both her “false front” and her cap were awry.
Finally, losing all patience, she seized a handy cushion and flung it with evidently practised hand at the parrot’s cage. The bird broke off short in his whistling.
“Drat you, Mr. Montague! Shut up!” cried Mrs. Severn.
“Shut up yourself—and see how you like it,” croaked the parrot; but he desisted after that and his mistress and Beth could talk.
“Mercy!” was the lady’s first comment as Beth stood before her. “You are only a child!”
“But grown-up folks are not taught at Rivercliff School, Mrs. Severn,” Beth returned, with a smile.