"What made her come to the Priory?" asked Doris, now thoroughly interested.
"I suppose there was nowhere else for her to go, her mother being dead. Grandfather said she told him such a miserable tale about herself and her mother, that they had been terribly poor and had been obliged to support themselves by doing needlework; and to-morrow he's going to Bristol to find out if it's true; he thinks it is. Oh, Doris, doesn't it seem dreadful that our own cousin should have been in want when we have always had such a good home and plenty of everything? Grandfather said she has the appearance of having been half-starved, and he looked so red and queer when he said it, and mother cried, and father—oh, there was such a grave, sad expression on his face!"
"I remember mother told me grandfather wanted to have Uncle John's little girl to live at the Priory years ago," Doris remarked reflectively.
"Yes, but her mother wouldn't give her up—of course she wouldn't. Do you think our mother could bear to part with one of us?"
"No. But Uncle John's wife was quite a common person, I've heard, so that's different."
"How?" asked Molly, opening her grey eyes wide with astonishment. "If she wasn't a lady, I expect she loved her little girl quite as much as though she was. Father wouldn't like to hear you speak like that; you know he doesn't like to hear anyone called 'common.' Oh, I'm longing to meet Felicia, to see what she's like. But grandfather said he would rather we did not come to the Priory till he sends for us—not even mother. He wishes to make certain Felicia has told him the exact truth before he introduces her to us."
"Does he mean her to live at the Priory?" Doris inquired.
"I think he does. He did not say so, but he spoke as though she was to remain there. Oh, by the way, Lion found her asleep in the deep ditch at the bottom of Greenside meadow, and he's taken such a fancy to her. Grandfather seemed pleased at that."
"What was she doing in the ditch?"
"Simply resting in the shade under the hazel bushes. She had been to the Priory and had not found grandfather at home and had crept into the ditch, because it was cool and quiet there. Grandfather said she was lying amongst the meadow-sweet and irises; he called her 'a pale, little ditch flower, unaccustomed to sunshine.'"