“Well, dearie, welcome or not, here you are, and here you must stay for to-night, at any rate. You see, Dr. Willett has one child on his hands already, and he’s a handful. I doubt if he’ll want another. But then, we must all have what we don’t want sometimes—eh, miss?”
To this Inna sighed a troubled little “Yes.”
Then Mrs. Grant—for she it was—bethought [p27] her to help her off with her jacket and hat, and inquired had she any belongings at the station? Yes, she had a trunk there; and an unknown Will—at least, unknown to Inna—was despatched for it.
“But maybe you’d like some tea?” suggested the housekeeper.
“Yes, I should, please,” the little lady assured her, folding her jacket neatly, as she had been taught.
“Well, they’re just having tea in the dining-room. Come along.”
No use for Inna to shrink or shiver, for Mrs. Grant was leading the way to those unknown tea-drinkers of whom she was to form one; the fire-light from the kitchen showing them the way along a passage. Then a door was opened, and the small shiverer thrust in, not unkindly, with the words—
“A little lady come for a bit and a sup with you, sir.”
Then the door closed, and she was in another fire-lit room. A lamp, too, burnt on a table in front of a wood fire, on which was laid a quaint old-fashioned tea equipage, with a hissing urn, [p28] and all complete. On the hearth knelt a lad, making toast; and by his side, leaning against the mantelpiece, was a tall man—red-haired, with streaks of grey in that of both head and closely-clipped beard. He had keen grey eyes, which seemed to scan Inna through; a small mouse-like figure by the door, afraid to advance.
“Oscar, where are your manners?” asked the gentleman, “to treat a lady in this way, when she’s thrust upon you?”