Adèle rose and brushed away her tears. "How stupid I am!" she cried, "and really I didn't intend to be so silly to-day, for, Margaret, I was just thinking—Mamma is so good and kind, she generally lets me do as I like; then, you see, she has never met you. I mean to dress you as you were dressed yesterday, and I want you to put forth all your fascinations. The result will be that mamma won't have the heart to carry me off."
"But, Adèle—"
"But, Margaret. Put yourself in my hands, madam. Remember I am responsible for your safe-keeping to somebody—my somebody, not yours, Margaret. By the bye, I will urge Arthur's wishes. Mamma never likes to offend him."
And so Adèle rattled on to hide her true, deep feelings, while once more she ministered tenderly to the friend she loved.
Mrs. Churchill, impatient as the time drew nearer to see her daughter again, had left York by an early train, and Margaret and Adèle had not been long seated over their work in the little parlor before a travelling carriage, heavily laden with luggage, drove up to the door. She had brought her carriage and horses so far by rail, her intention being to post for the remainder of the way.
It was long since Margaret had met any stranger, and she felt a little nervous when the rattle of wheels came to her ears; but as from her station by the parlor-window she caught a sight of Mrs. Churchill's pleasant, kindly face, some of her painful anticipations fled.
Adèle had run down the garden-path. She brought her mother in to introduce her to her friend.
The good Mrs. Churchill had been rather curious to see Margaret. Adèle's enthusiasm and Arthur's boyish admiration had made her look for something remarkable, but she was scarcely prepared for the refinement, the style, the exquisite grace of her daughter's friend. It was a rare combination, even in those circles in which the rich and highly-connected widow moved.
Mrs. Churchill knew enough of the world to be quite sure at once that she was in the house of a lady—not only highly born and bred, but accustomed to the usages of society. Her good sense and kindly feeling led her to treat her hostess with all due deference.
"I have long wished to have the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Mrs. Grey," she said when Margaret had persuaded her to divest herself of bonnet and shawl, "I have heard so much about you from these enthusiastic children of mine. I call them my children, because Arthur has been almost like my own son, and I presume you are in the confidence of this little girl, and that she has let out her secret." Mrs. Churchill looked at Margaret rather curiously.