“Well, then, if you find the habit so unamiable in Mrs. Denison, as I see you do, you should take the greatest care not to fall into it yourself,” said the vicar, suppressing a smile.
Then he turned again to the lady.
“Is everything ready for your coming?” he asked, doubtfully.
For he had passed the house that morning, and found it deserted, mildewed, and shuttered-up as usual.
“No, nothing,” said the girl. “We’ve come on in advance to prepare things for papa and mamma and the rest,” she added rather tremulously.
The frightful immensity of the undertaking perhaps struck her now for the first time, as she stood, still shaking from the shock of the accident, staring at the smokeless chimneys and shuttered windows of the new home. Mr. Brander looked from one girl to the other, very sorry for both, wondering what kind of idiots the parents could be to send two inexperienced young lasses to grapple with all the difficulties of installation.
“And the furniture? I suppose that has come?” he suggested, dubiously.
“Oh, I hope so,” said the girl, anxiously.
“I’ll ask at the inn here. If it has come they will have seen it pass. And Mrs. Tew will give you both a cup of tea. You don’t mind going into an inn, do you? It’s a very respectable place.”
“Oh, no; of course we don’t,” said Miss Denison. “Indeed, it is very, very kind of you to take so much trouble for us.”