But it was no garret to which her cousin presently conducted her, nor, alas! did it command a view of the sea. It was a fair-sized room above the kitchen—a room filled up with ugly, old-fashioned furniture—and its window overlooked a wide prospect of cabbage-beds.
"Just come into the front parlour when you get off your things," said Rachel, "and we'll have a cup of tea."
"Thank you," said Mona pleasantly, and she was left alone.
She seated herself absently on a chair, and then sprang suddenly to her feet again.
"Well, you don't suppose you are going to take stock now," she said to herself savagely. "Wash your hands, and be quick about it!"
She took the liberty of opening the window first, however. The upper sash declined to move at all, and the lower one slipped down again as often as she raised it. In vain she looked about the room for something to support it.
"Stay open you shall," she said, "if I put my own head underneath! but I will resort to the Family Bible first," and her eye rested on the substantial volume that surmounted the chest of drawers.
Finally, she rolled her travelling cloak into a tight bundle, and propped up the sash with that.
"A little rain will do you no harm," she said, "and a little air will do this musty hole a vast deal of good."
She looked about for hot water, but there was none, so with a shiver she washed in cold. Then after a glance at the distorting looking-glass, to make sure that her hair was smooth and her expression tolerably amiable, she betook herself to the front parlour.