There was an atmosphere of the world about Sylvia which Mrs. Lem recognized at once from long experience with summer people; and secure in her pompadour, the psyche knot, and the shine of her best gown, she wished to show this young girl that her sophistication was shared even in a rural district. To be sure, the extraordinary telegram from Thinkright had left the family free to believe that it was a personage whom he was bringing home with him—probably some important friend of Judge Trent; and to have their varied guesses met by the fact of a white-faced girl in mourning was disappointing. Nevertheless, to Mrs. Lem's suspicious eyes Sylvia had a cold, proud air, which caused the housekeeper to glory in her toilet and be grateful for her knowledge of the world. It should be Greek meeting Greek.
"Oh, she'll go to her room," said Thinkright. "Cap'n Lem and I will bring her trunk and satchel right up. Supper's nearly ready, I suppose, Mrs. Lem?"
"Whenever you are," returned that lady elegantly. "I will accompany you, Miss Lacey."
Minty, though she said no word, prepared to follow, apparently not able to remove her round gaze from the visitor.
"You may make the toast, Minty," said her mother warningly, and the child took a reluctant step backward.
Sylvia followed the brilliantine up a narrow staircase.
"You're from Boston, I presume, Miss Lacey?"
"Yes, just now," returned Sylvia.
"Not your home, then?"
"No."