As she came forward Mrs. Lidcote found herself humorously wondering whether she were mourning Horace Pursh’s divorce in one of his mother’s old black satins.
“Oh, did you mean to go down for tea?” Susy Suffern peered at her, a little fluttered. “Leila sent me up to keep you company. She thought it would be cozier for you to stay here. She was afraid you were feeling rather tired.”
“I was; but I’ve had the whole afternoon to rest in. And this wonderful sofa to help me.”
“Leila told me to tell you that she’d rush up for a minute before dinner, after everybody had arrived; but the train is always dreadfully late. She’s in despair at not giving you a sitting-room; she wanted to know if I thought you really minded.”
“Of course I don’t mind. It’s not like Leila to think I should.” Mrs. Lidcote drew aside to make way for the housemaid, who appeared in the doorway bearing a table spread with a bewildering variety of tea-cakes.
“Leila saw to it herself,” Miss Suffern murmured as the door closed. “Her one idea is that you should feel happy here.”
It struck Mrs. Lidcote as one more mark of the subverted state of things that her daughter’s solicitude should find expression in the multiplicity of sandwiches and the piping-hotness of muffins; but then everything that had happened since her arrival seemed to increase her confusion.
The note of a motor-horn down the drive gave another turn to her thoughts. “Are those the new arrivals already?” she asked.
“Oh, dear, no; they won’t be here till after seven.” Miss Suffern craned her head from the window to catch a glimpse of the motor. “It must be Charlotte leaving.”
“Was it the little Wynn girl who was called away in a hurry? I hope it’s not on account of illness.”