'Come in here,' I said, in a tone which subdued his happiness; and he followed me back into the room. 'Now t-t-take the tongs,' I continued, as haughtily as coughing would permit, 'and r-ram it up the chimney.'
Cowed, but exceedingly reluctant, he obeyed, and I would not let him relax his efforts until, smothered with soot and dust, dry twigs and blackened snow, he pulled down upon himself a sack, a couple of birds'-nests, and other obstacles which, some from above and some from below, had been deposited in the unused chimney.
'Now,' said I, purple in the face but content, 'you can relight the fire.'
And, satisfied with this moral victory and the prestige it gave me in the eyes of the whole household—for Tim and the outdoor genius who gardened twelve acres and looked after four horses had both enjoyed this domestic scandal from the doorway—I marched back to my cold coffee and congealed bacon.
There were no more difficulties, though, at least none worth mentioning. It is true that on returning from my morning's ride I found the hall so stuffed up with furniture that I had to enter my residence through one of the study windows, five feet from the ground; and that I had to picnic on a sandwich in the study instead of lunching decorously in the dining-room; but these discomforts might be necessary to a thorough cleaning, and could be borne with fortitude. At six o'clock my guests arrived, and, having left their cloaks in a spare-room opened for the occasion, they were led to shiver in the drawing-room, which still smelt of smoke and soap and water. Mrs. Ellmer, with chattering teeth, admired the painted ceiling, the white satin chairs bright with embossed roses, the pale screen, and all the fanciful glories of the room, the magnificence of which evidently impressed and delighted her. Babiole seemed unable to take her eyes off two oil-paintings, both portraits of the same lady, which, in massive gilt oval frames, occupied a prominent position at the end of the room opposite the fireplace.
'Babiole is fascinated, you see, Mr. Maude,' said her mother, with the little affected laugh which gave less the idea of pleasure than that of a wish to please. 'If she dared she would ask who those ladies are.'
'They are both the same, mother,' said Babiole, so softly, so shyly, that one could think she guessed there was some story about the portraits.
Mrs. Ellmer's eyes began to beam with a less artless curiosity.
'Would it be indiscreet to ask her name?'
'Her name was Helen.'