There was no disguising it, for Dickie’s utterance had the clearness of a bell, and a horrified silence fell on the assembly.
“Don’t be naughty, Dickie,” said Mrs Hawthorn reprovingly; “say, ‘How do you do?’ directly.”
But Miss Unity had straightened herself up and turned away with an odd look in her eyes.
“Don’t scold the child, Mary,” she said; “she’s not naughty, she’s only honest.”
From that time Pennie never considered Miss Unity quite ugly, and indeed her features were not so much ugly as rugged and immovable. When her feelings were stirred she was not ugly at all; for they were good, kind feelings, and made her whole face look pleasant. So little happened in her life, however, that they generally remained shut up as in a sort of prison and were seldom called forth; people, therefore, who did not know her often thought her cross. But Miss Unity was not cross—she was only lonely and dull because she had so little to love. Nothing could have passed off better than the Hawthorns’ visit on this particular occasion, and indeed when David was with her Mrs Hawthorn never feared the unlucky accidents which were apt to occur with the other children. He was so deliberate and careful by nature that there was no risk of his knocking down the china, or treading on the cat’s tail, or on the train of Miss Unity’s gown. Nancy did all these things frequently, however hard she tried to be good, and was besides very restive under reproof and ready to answer pertly.
On the whole Miss Unity liked to have the grave little David with her better than the other children, though she sometimes felt when she found his solemn and disapproving gaze fixed upon her. David on his side had his opinions, though he said little, and he had long ago made up his mind that he did not like Miss Unity at all. So he was sorry to find, when the day came for leaving Nearminster, that she was going back to Easney with them instead of making her visit later in the year. It would not be nearly as pleasant as driving alone with his father and mother, he thought; for now he could not ask questions on the way, unless he talked to Andrew, and he was always so silent.
When the wagonette came round there were so many little packages belonging to Miss Unity that it was quite difficult to stow them away, and as fast as that was done Bridget brought out more. Not that there was much luggage altogether, but it consisted in such a number of oddly-shaped parcels and small boxes that it was both puzzling and distracting to know where to put them. Mr Hawthorn was busy for a good quarter of an hour disposing of Miss Unity’s property; while David looked on, keenly interested, and full of faith in his father’s capacity.
“That’s all, I think,” said Mr Hawthorn triumphantly at last, as he emerged from the depths of the wagonette, and surveyed his labours; “there’s not much room left for us, certainly, but I daresay we shall manage.”
As he spoke Bridget came out of the house carrying a waterproof bundle, bristling with umbrellas and parasols.
“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed the vicar in a discouraged voice, “is that to go? Does your mistress want all those umbrellas?”