“My dear Lizzie,” said Mrs. Puckle; then suddenly advancing upon her and seizing her unawares she attacked her with a vigorous embrace.
“Well, Uncle,” said Lizzie, releasing herself as vigorously, and straightening her back; “you have indeed given us a surprise!”
I knew that Lizzie was furious, wild with indignation and consternation, but years of governessing had taught her extraordinary self-control.
“Yes, my dear, life is full of surprises,” said the professor, to whom things seemed to be going unexpectedly well. “I hope there is a good fire in my room,” he added bumptiously. “Jessie,” to the bride, “you will like to take your things off, and we will have dinner at once.”
“All right,” she answered obediently. “Dear me, how warm and cosy it all looks!” and the bride’s quick eyes travelled round the room, and noted the solid mahogany furniture, the massive table appointments, and the whole appearance of unostentatious comfort. On her way towards the door she halted and addressed herself particularly to Lizzie.
“Your uncle and I were always friendly you remember, and a fortnight’s propinquity was too much for us both!”
“Was it really?” rejoined Lizzie, speaking with set lips, and a bright red spot on either cheek.
“Yes,” replied the bride, “we have so much in common, and are both old enough to know our own minds.” And then she turned her broad back on her new niece, and passed into the hall.
“This I suppose is the drawing-room?” And the bride threw open the door and stood in a “monarch of all I survey” attitude on the threshold. Within, it looked black and aggressively forbidding; it was as if the spirit of the old house distrusted this stranger.
“Oh dear me, what a horrible smell of damp and dry rot! I shall have a fire in here every day.”