He assented, and she ran and admitted Lion, who evinced great joy at the sight of her, and when she resumed her seat, took up his position by her side, resting his great head upon her knee. By-and-by a servant entered to lay the table for lunch, which Mr. Guy—he was always called so in the household—insisted on his niece taking with him. Her heart filled with pity when he left his sofa and crossed the room to the table, and she realised for the first time how much he was deformed, but she had the tact not to show it. On the whole, uncle and niece were not unfavourably impressed with each other; and the former's mental comment after the latter had left him was—
"The child has individuality, and there is nothing low or common about her. I am inclined to like this 'ditch flower' as father so aptly termed her—poor little thing!"
[CHAPTER IX]
First Days at the Priory
AT Mrs. Price's suggestion, Felicia spent her first afternoon at the Priory in going over the house. It was a rambling abode, for it had been added to on several occasions. The wing in which were Mr. Guy's rooms was comparatively modern, but much of the house was very old, notably the big dining and drawing rooms, the windows of which opened upon a smooth, well-kept lawn. In the flower-garden adjoining the house were the ruins of a chapel, some of the massive walls of which still stood firm, overgrown with moss and ivy.
It was Ann White who took Felicia over the house, and afterwards escorted her for a short walk in the grounds. The latter discovered that the water she had remarked from her bedroom window was a small, artificial lake, on which a pair of swans and a lot of ducks were disporting themselves on this fine, summer afternoon. The little girl was much interested, but rather over-awed by all she saw, for the Priory appeared a magnificent home in her eyes, quite a palatial residence, in fact. It was difficult to realise that her father had been born and brought up in this stately old house, or that the rooms, over which a melancholy stillness seemed to hang, had ever resounded with the echo of children's footsteps and children's laughter. Perhaps some such thoughts were in Ann's mind, too, for as they crossed the lawn on their way back to the house, she remarked—
"It will be pleasant to have a child about. I'm glad you've come, miss."
"Are you?" questioned Felicia, her pale face brightening.
"Yes," the girl nodded. "The place is strange to you now, and I daresay it strikes you as big and lonely, but by-and-by you'll grow to love it. I'm sure you will."
Felicia sighed, for she had grave doubts if such would be the case. The house filled her with a sensation of nervousness which she had never experienced elsewhere; she would rather have had the tiniest room than the large, handsomely furnished apartment she had occupied on the previous night.