“They can’t have much to do but look at each other,” she thought, with some truth; for the establishment at Ashcroft had never been reduced when the gay rush of social life, for which it had been calculated, had stopped altogether.
Aunt Stroud had certainly talked of the Ashcroft household, but Florence had been rather in the habit of supposing that all these respectable ladies and gentlemen had been invented for her edification. Like all girls of her sort, Florence, if she did feel shy, had absolutely no manners at all and when Mrs Hay spoke to her she only sniggered and stuck out her foot, feeling relieved when they went upstairs to see “Granny.”
Mrs Warren was a little old woman in a black gown and old-fashioned frilled cap. She had been in the family when the present Mr Cunningham was born, and she was always treated by him with the greatest respect. Her great trouble was that she was too lame to go and see Master Edgar, and it had been no small loss to the lonely Edgar when old “Bunny,” as by some childish play on her name of Warren she was always called, was no longer able to pay him visits, and give him all the petting which, poor fellow, he ever got.
She knew all the family troubles, and regarded them as her own; if she could have brought Alwyn back or cured Edgar, she would have sacrificed herself with entire and unconscious devotion. That Miss Geraldine “did not have the advantages nor the company of other young ladies” was a constant regret to her. She had a cat and a canary bird which lived in harmony together; and in her room Wyn frequently nursed white mice, or dormice, on the plea that they would amuse Mr Edgar; they certainly amused himself, and possibly Granny too. When Mrs Warren and Florrie arrived Wyn was already established, eating buttered toast, with his infant dormice asleep on his pocket-handkerchief. Granny never thought that animals or babies were dirty, noisy, or troublesome. She preferred her cat to her carpet, and her young masters and mistresses and grandchildren to her afternoon nap.
As she was filling up her brown teapot, which had already for some time been drawing on the hob, and was setting Wyn and Florence to fetch out various delicacies from her cupboard, a quick step sounded, and Geraldine came rushing in, and, flinging her arms round the old woman’s neck, kissed her heartily.
“How d’ye do, Bunny? Oh! good afternoon, Mrs Warren. I didn’t know you were having tea. Sit down, please.”
Florence had stood up because all the others did.
“Have a bit of cake, Miss Geraldine, my dear?” said Granny coaxingly.
“Miss Geraldine grows a tall young lady,” said Mrs Warren.
“They don’t give us half such nice cake in the schoolroom. Oh!—baby dormice! How lovely!”