“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Priscilla. “Will it take us much out of our way?”
“No, only a step or two. Come, we have just to turn this corner, and here we are. What a dear—quite too good-natured girl you are, Miss Peel!” Prissie said nothing. The two started forth again in the drizzling mist and fog, and presently found themselves in one of the most fashionable streets of Kingsdene, and standing before a ponderous hall-door, which stood back in a portico.
Rosalind rang the bell, which made a loud peal. The door was opened almost immediately; but, instead of a servant appearing in answer to the summons, a showily dressed girl, with a tousled head of flaxen hair, light blue eyes, and a pale face, stood before Rosalind and Prissie.
“Oh, you dear Rose!” she said, clasping her arms round Miss Merton, and dragging her into the house: “I had almost given you up. Do come in—do come in, both of you. You are more than welcome. What a miserable, horrid, too utterly depressing afternoon it is!”
“How do you do, Meta?” said Rosalind, when she could interrupt this eager flow of words. “May I introduce my friend, Miss Peel? Miss Peel, this is my very great and special friend and chum, Meta Elliot-Smith.”
“Oh, you charming darling!” said Meta, giving Rose a fresh hug, and glancing in a supercilious but friendly way at Prissie.
“We came to inquire for your mother, dear Meta,” said Rose, in a demure tone. “Is she any better?”
“Yes, my dear darling, she’s much better.” Meta’s eyes flashed interrogation into Rose’s: Rose’s returned back glances, which spoke whole volumes of meaning.
“Look here,” said Meta Elliot-Smith, “now that you two dear, precious girls have come, you mustn’t go away. Oh, no, I couldn’t hear of it. I have perfect oceans to say to you, Rose—and it is absolutely centuries since we have met. Off with your waterproof, and up you come to the drawing-room for a cup of tea. One or two friends are dropping in presently, and the Beechers and one or two more are upstairs now. You know the Beechers, don’t you, Rosalind? Here, Miss Peel, let me help you to unburden yourself. Little Rose is so nimble in her ways that she doesn’t need any assistance.”
“Oh, but indeed I can’t stay,” said Prissie. “It is quite impossible! You know, Miss Merton, it is impossible. We are due at St. Benet’s now. We ought to be going back at once.”