“They’ve no thought for anything,” said Emmie with contempt. “You go up and get dressed, our Matilda. I don’t care about him. I can see to things, and you can talk to him. I shan’t.”
“He’ll talk to my father,” said Matilda, meaningful.
“Sly—!” exclaimed Emmie, with a grimace.
The sisters believed that Hadrian had come hoping to get something out of their father—hoping for a legacy. And they were not at all sure he would not get it.
Matilda went upstairs to change. She had thought it all out how she would receive Hadrian, and impress him. And he had caught her with her head tied up in a duster, and her thin arms in a basin of lather. But she did not care. She now dressed herself most scrupulously, carefully folded her long, beautiful, blonde hair, touched her pallor with a little rouge, and put her long string of exquisite crystal beads over her soft green dress. Now she looked elegant, like a heroine in a magazine illustration, and almost as unreal.
She found Hadrian and her father talking away. The young man was short of speech as a rule, but he could find his tongue with his “uncle”. They were both sipping a glass of brandy, and smoking, and chatting like a pair of old cronies. Hadrian was telling about Canada. He was going back there when his leave was up.
“You wouldn’t like to stop in England, then?” said Mr. Rockley.
“No, I wouldn’t stop in England,” said Hadrian.
“How’s that? There’s plenty of electricians here,” said Mr. Rockley.
“Yes. But there’s too much difference between the men and the employers over here—too much of that for me,” said Hadrian.