“My hair is not very disorderly, is it?” she said, trying to smooth her soft bright curls. “How odious that they should come!”
“What shall I do?” asked John.
“Stay until they come in, and then I suppose—”
“I will go—good-by, dear May.”
He clasped her hand for a moment, and then May went to the door to receive her father and his bride. Mrs. Churchill was already in the hall, and was giving orders to the coachman and servants about her luggage; Mr. Churchill was giving orders about the horses.
As May went forward Mrs. Churchill saw her, and advanced toward her and kissed her face.
“Well, my dear,” she said, “here we are. We have had a wet day to travel in, but it makes it all the pleasanter to get home. And how are you?”
She was a good-looking, middle-aged woman; robust and dark, with marked dark eyebrows, and a firm, hard mouth. She looked a person of strong will also; somehow her very voice told you this.
“William,” she called out in a loud tone to her husband, “here is your daughter.”
Upon this Mr. Churchill came into the hall, and kissed May also.