Mary Osborne took little part in the fun beyond a smile, or in the more solid conversation beyond an assent or an ordinary remark. I did not find her very interesting. An onlooker would probably have said she lacked expression. But the stillness upon her face bore to me the shadow of a reproof. Perhaps it was only a want of sympathy with what was going on around her. Perhaps her soul was either far withdrawn from its present circumstances, or not yet awake to the general interests of life. There was little in the form or hue of her countenance to move admiration, beyond a complexion without spot. It was very fair and delicate, with little more colour in it than in the white rose, which but the faintest warmth redeems from dead whiteness. Her features were good in form, but in no way remarkable; her eyes were of the so-called hazel, which consists of a mingling of brown and green; her figure was good, but seemed unelastic, and she had nothing of her brother’s gaiety or grace of movement or expression. I do not mean that either her motions or her speech was clumsy—there was simply nothing to remark in them beyond the absence of anything special. In a word, I did not find her interesting, save as the sister of my delightful Charley, and the sharer of his mother’s griefs concerning him.
‘If I had as good help in the afternoon,’ I said, ‘we should have all the books on the shelves to-night, and be able to set about assorting them to-morrow.’
‘I am sorry I cannot come this afternoon,’ said Miss Brotherton. ‘I should have been most happy if I could. It is really very pleasant notwithstanding the dust. But Mrs Osborne and mamma want me to go with them to Minstercombe. You will lunch with us to-day, won’t you?’ she added, turning to Charley.
‘Thank you, Miss Brotherton,’ he replied; ‘I should have been delighted, but I am not my own master—I am Cumbermede’s slave at present, and can eat and drink only when and where he chooses.’
‘You must stay with your mother, Charley,’ I said. ‘You cannot refuse Miss Brotherton.’
She could thereupon scarcely avoid extending the invitation to me, but I declined it on some pretext or other, and I was again, thanks to Lilith, back from my dinner before they had finished luncheon. The carriage was at the door when I rode up, and the moment I heard it drive away, I went to the dining-room to find my coadjutors. The only person there was Miss Pease. A thought struck me.
‘Won’t you come and help us, Miss Pease?’ I said. ‘I have lost one of my assistants, and I am very anxious to get the room we are at now so far finished to-night.’
A smile found its way to her cold eyes, and set the blue sparkling for one briefest moment.
‘It is very kind of you, Mr Cumbermede, but—’
‘Kind!’ I exclaimed—‘I want your help, Miss Pease.’