I took Miss Dicks to my room to refresh herself after the journey. She sniffed with her pretty little nose as we went up the staircase, and said, "How deliciously fresh it smells here! I hate the smell of London, don't you? Are there many people staying in the house?"
"Why, no," I said, rather embarrassed by the question. "You see it is a new thing for us to have boarders at 'Gay Bowers,' and at present there are only ourselves and Mr. Faulkner."
She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "Well, to be sure, and I thought there would be twenty at least! I looked forward to music and dancing in the evening!"
I felt inclined to laugh too, but I answered gravely, "Then I am afraid our home will hardly suit you, for it is small, as you see, and we could never accommodate more than half the number you name."
"I see," she said with a little pout. "Well, I must make the best of it now, I suppose. I like the look of the lady, Mrs.—what is her name?"
"Mrs. Lucas," I said; "she is my aunt."
"Oh!" Thereupon she turned and looked at me from head to foot with a thoroughness which let slip no detail of my appearance. My colour rose, yet I gave her credit for intending no insolence by her cool survey.
A moment later, as she removed her hat with her eyes on the mirror, I took the opportunity to observe her more closely. Her hair was a pale brown and fairly plentiful. It presented an arrangement of poufs and combs, and tortoiseshell ornaments, which was quite novel to me. I found it more extraordinary than beautiful, though when I got used to the style I saw that it suited her.
The travellers had acquired the art of quickly making themselves at home. As we took our luncheon they spoke and acted as if "Gay Bowers" belonged to them. More than once I saw Aunt Patty flush with resentment at what she evidently considered an impertinence. But she had the good sense to hide her annoyance.
Cook, knowing that strangers were expected, had risen to the occasion and sent up some very dainty dishes. Josiah Dicks did ample justice to her excellent pastry, although he assured us he was a martyr to dyspepsia.