They had now passed the lodge-gates, and were driving through the park. Herds of fallow deer moved away, but the broad bluff forms of the red deer gazed steadfastly as lions from the crest of a hill.
'Did you ever meet Lady Dungory, mamma?' asked Alice. 'Is she dead?'
'No, dear, she is not dead; but it would be better, perhaps, if she were. She behaved very badly. Lord Dungory had to get a separation. No one ever speaks of her now. Mind, you are warned!'
At this moment the carriage stopped before a modern house, built between two massive Irish towers entirely covered with huge ivy.
'I am afraid we are a little late,' said Mrs. Barton to the servant, as he relieved them of their sorties de bal.
'Eight o'clock has just struck, ma'am.'
'The two old things will make faces at us, I know,' murmured Mrs.
Barton, as she ascended the steps.
On either side there were cases of stuffed birds; a fox lay in wait for a pheasant on the right; an otter devoured a trout on the left. These attested the sporting tastes of a former generation. The white marble statues of nymphs sleeping in the shadows of the different landings and the Oriental draperies with which each cabinet was hung suggested the dilettantism of the present owner.
Mrs. Barton walked on in front; the girls drew together like birds. They were amazed at the stateliness of the library, and they marvelled at the richness of the chandeliers and the curiously assorted pictures. The company was assembled in a small room at the end of the suite.
Two tall, bony, high-nosed women advanced and shook hands menacingly with Mrs. Barton. They were dressed alike in beautiful gowns of gold-brown plush.