“I must apologize for having brought nothing but my father’s card,” said Lady Tyrrell, entering with her sister, and shaking hands: “there’s no such thing as dragging him out for a morning call.”
“And Mr. Charnock Poynsett is not at home,” replied Cecil. “He found so much county business waiting for him, that he had to go to Backsworth.”
“It is the better opportunity for a little private caucus with you,” returned Lady Tyrrell, “before the meeting to-morrow. I rather fancy the gentlemen have one of their own.”
“Some are to dine here to-night,” said Cecil.
“We ladies had better be prepared with our proposals,” said Lady Tyrrell.
At the same time Frank drew near Miss Vivian with a large book, saying, “These are the photographs you wished to see.”
He placed the book on the ottoman, and would thus have secured a sort of tête-à-tête; but Eleonora did not choose to leave Mrs Miles Charnock out, and handed her each photograph in turn, but could only elicit a cold languid “Thank you.” To Anne’s untrained eye these triumphs of architecture were only so many dull representations of ‘Roman Catholic churches,’ and she would much rather have listened to the charitable plans of the other two ladies, for the houseless factory women of Wil’sbro’.
The bazaar, Lady Tyrrell said, must be first started by the Member’s wife; and there should be an innermost committee, of not more than three, to dispose of stalls and make arrangements.
“You must be one,” said Cecil. “I know no one yet.”
“You will, long before it comes off. In fact, I am as great a stranger as yourself. Ah! there’s an opportunity!” as the bell pealed. “The Bowaters, very likely; I saw their Noah’s ark as I passed the Poynsett Arms, with the horses taken out. I wonder how many are coming—worthy folks!”