Jim took the kind little hand, and bade Florry welcome with most respectful courtesy. It was good of her to call him by his father’s name; but, being Frances’s friend, she was, of course, a queen among girls.
Frances came up, and finding the ice thus broken, managed to greet Jim easily enough. The three talked for a few moments in the porch.
“Now we must go in and set to work,” declared Florry presently; and Jim stood aside that she might lead the way; then, as Frances made a shy motion to follow, he detained his sister by a slight gesture.
“I hope as you’ll find things right, Missy,” said the youth in a low voice. “I’ve a lot of work to do in the smithy yonder, and I’ll be there all day most like. Elizabeth will bring me something to eat; and so—so—the place’ll be clear, if you and Miss Fane wish to stay. I bade Elizabeth ask what you’d fancy,”—Jim coloured, and added with some effort,—“and you won’t forget, Missy, as you’re mistress here.”
Frances wanted to say something kind and appreciative; but while she watched her brother’s nervousness her own came back to her, and she searched vainly for words which might make an approach to frank confidence between them seem possible. Jim saw only her hesitation, and hastily concluding that his forebodings had been justified, stepped quietly out of the porch and took the side-path to the smithy.
“I believe it will always be like this,” thought Frances, as she gazed remorsefully after her brother’s tall, well set-up figure. “I wonder why I’m such a silly? I wish he wouldn’t call me ‘Missy’. I wish I could tell him nicely—so that he wouldn’t be vexed—that he ought to say ‘Frances’, as Austin does. Austin would know how to do it, but that’s because he behaved kindly and fairly and has nothing to be ashamed of. And Jim has been so good to us, so generous and forgiving; I ought to be proud of him—and I think I am, deep down in my heart. It’s the top part of me that’s so ungracious and horrid. How stupid to be shy, when he’s my own brother! Shall I ever be sensible about it?”
Just as Frances reached this plaintive speculation her friend’s patience gave way, and Florry, who had ventured on a peep into the sitting-room, came back to fetch the loiterer.
“It looks quite nice already,” said Florry cheerfully. “There really isn’t much for us to do, except the ‘etceteras’.” She dragged Frances forcibly into Mrs. Morland’s future sanctum. “See! even the curtains have been put up; and don’t they hang nicely? One of your brothers has ideas, Frances! I wonder which of them ‘disposed’ that drapery?”
“Not Austin; he wouldn’t be bothered!” laughed Frances. “The room does look pretty. Those soft gray walls are such a nice background for the pictures. It was kind of the creditor-people to let Mamma keep some of her pictures and china, wasn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” said Florry soberly. “But as your mother wasn’t really a bit to blame—”