The clergyman's wife, Mrs. Staines, who early called on the new-comers, proclaimed her "a sweet girl," and spoke of Mrs. Tracy as the "dearest little woman imaginable." The doctor's wife, who also called, was less discreet, and opined that there must be some extraordinary reason why such people buried themselves alive in a dull little hole like St. Anne's. It was all very well to say that it was on account of Mrs. Tracy's health, but there were numbers of places ten thousand times livelier than St. Anne's, equally sheltered and favoured with sunshine and sea air.
Mrs. Tracy and her daughter, however, far from complaining of dulness, showed no wish to avail themselves of such society as the little town could offer. They received every overture courteously and pleasantly, but made no attempt to advance to terms of intimacy with any of their new acquaintances. Thus it came to pass, that when they had lived a year at St. Anne's, their neighbours knew little more about them than they did when they arrived.
One mild April afternoon, Mrs. Tracy was sitting alone in the pretty drawing-room of the gabled cottage. Juliet had gone by rail to a large and flourishing watering-place a few miles distant, which boasted a good circulating library, to which she was a subscriber. She had become a great reader, and was developing quite a critical taste for the "solid" literature which she had formerly spurned.
Mrs. Tracy had not long been alone. A visitor had just left her, the object of whose visit was now causing Mrs. Tracy serious reflection, and leading her mentally to review the tranquil, unvarying course of the last year's life. Not so long ago she would have thought it impossible that Juliet could be content with so quiet and uneventful a life; but the girl seemed calmly happy, as she read and studied and took long walks and drives. Only the mother felt sure that a time must come when she would yearn for a fuller life.
"Let us go to a place as unlike London as possible," Juliet had said, when they began to discuss their plans for the future; and certainly St. Anne's seemed to fulfil this condition.
The home at The Poplars had been broken up when Hannah obtained the post at Leeds for which she had applied, and Salome accompanied her thither. Mrs. Tracy and Juliet had wandered about for a while. It had been suggested to them that they should go abroad, but the very sound of that word was like a nightmare to Juliet, conjuring up visions of crimson velvet furniture and lavish gilding, sensations of stifling heat and sickening odours, and painful memories of the shame and misery of which these had been the dreary accompaniments.
It was Mrs. Tracy who had thought of St. Anne's. She had known it as a girl, and felt inclined to renew her acquaintance with the quiet, quaint, out-of-the-world place. Moreover, it was sufficiently near to Leeds to make it possible for her elder daughters to visit her once or twice during the year.
When Juliet saw that the idea of St. Anne's had an attraction for her mother, she was bent upon going there. A visit was paid to the little town; the gabled cottage was seen and approved; as promptly as might be all preliminaries were settled, and the quiet, pretty spot became their home.
Mrs. Tracy's face looked brighter and less careworn than it had been wont to look at The Poplars. She was in fair health. The tranquil, regular life suited her sensitive nerves. Yet still she had her cares, and as before they chiefly concerned Juliet. Not that Juliet ever now caused her anxiety by her waywardness. The girl had grown strangely gentle and tractable. She never complained, never admitted that her days were dull, never expressed a wish for a more stimulating life. Only a sigh would now and then escape her unawares, or her mother would surprise on her face a sad and wistful look, or she would betray a restlessness which only long and vigorous exercise in the open air could allay. But the keen eyes of love alone could detect such signs as these. A careless observer might have fancied that the girl liked her life better than her mother liked it for her.
It was a lovely April eve. The hawthorn hedge which begirt the little garden was bursting into tender green. Primroses and hyacinths and a few late daffodils decked the garden beds. Above the gate, an almond tree drooped its dainty pink blossoms. Mrs. Tracy could see this beautiful banner of spring's victory where she sat watching for Juliet to appear. A thrush presently perched on its topmost bough and sang of the promise of the summer. It was one of those days that seem to hold a happy secret, and set one dreaming of some wonder and delight which the coming days will hold. Yet Juliet's face looked pale and tired, and even a little sad, as she passed beneath the blossom-laden boughs.