Orinda tossed her head and looked at him scornfully from under half-closed eyelids. She gave a little bitter laugh. “Of course,” she replied.
“Well, Susan,” said Mr. Crump, turning to his sister, “we may as well be getting on; it’s right smart of a ride, you know. Good luck to you, Rindy. Good-by, little girl. You’ve got a good home, and I hope you’ll appreciate it.”
Ellen answered never a word, but stood in silence till all went out, Mrs. Barton drawing her handsome furs about her as she entered her shining car. She nodded and smiled her farewells as the car bowled off, following the less elegant one of Mr. Crump. Miss Orinda did not stop to watch them out of sight, but shut the door hard, came back into the parlor, and stood for a moment in front of the Latrobe stove which heated the greater part of the small house.
“Well, that’s that,” she said at last. “If any one had told me this morning—— But, never mind. Maybe I’m a fool, but I’d rather be some kinds of a fool than a hide-bound, self-indulgent, cold-blooded skinflint. I rather imagine there have been worse fools in this room lately than I am. Come here, Ellen, and let’s take stock of each other, since we’re to be housemates.”
Ellen came readily. Miss Orinda held her off at arm’s length and regarded her steadily. “You’re not much like the Crumps,” she said presently. “You get your hazel eyes from your mother, but your nose and mouth from the Norths. It’s just as well, for the Crumps aren’t much for looks usually.”
“Uncle Josiah isn’t,” said Ellen in a decided voice.
Miss Orinda smiled. “No, he’d never take a beauty prize, neither would Susan. Lauretta wasn’t a particularly pretty girl; she grew up to her looks somehow; and you may, too, for you haven’t a bad beginning, though no one could call you a prize beauty either. Lauretta is about my age, a little older in fact, but doesn’t look it. If I gaumed up my skin with creams and clays, and was forever fiddling with my hair, maybe I’d look younger, but life’s too short for me to spend it messing with my old carcass, and I haven’t an eye out for the men, so there you are.”
While she was speaking Ellen was taking in her own impressions. She didn’t guess her cousin’s age; she was about forty-five, but looked older, for she used no devices for increasing her charms. She wore her dark hair straight back from her forehead, which was too high for beauty; she had somewhat small, but clear, frank gray eyes, a large nose, a straight, thin-lipped mouth, long upper lip, decided chin, was of medium height, slender, and straight. Her good points were her finely-shaped head, well set, her figure, her perfect teeth, and clear, unblemished skin. Ellen had seen the gray eyes snap and the lips compress into a hard, decided line, and concluded that some might not find it easy to get along with Cousin Orinda Crump.
But then she had delivered her from that terror which had threatened,—life in a charitable institution. Tears gushed to Ellen’s eyes as she thought of this, for she was an emotional, sensitive little body. She gave a short gasping sob. “I want to kiss you,” she faltered.
Miss Orinda patted her on the shoulder. “There, there, child,” she soothed, as Ellen put her arms around this deliverer from an unhappy fate. “I’m not much of a hugger, not having had anything but a cat to hug for a good many years, but if it would do you any good to kiss me, go ahead and do it, only it isn’t to become a daily habit, I warn you. We’ll get along all right if you’re a good child. You’ll turn out to be a real smart girl, I have no doubt, but I must warn you right this minute that you can’t expect either fine clothes or luxuries from me. We shall manage to get along somehow, I dare say, but I shall expect you to do your part.”