“She is Irish, though, and they all exaggerate things so dreadfully,” was his thought. “But I'll be very good to the child. What a contrast she is to Terence! Not that Terence is scarcely Irish; but anyone can see that this child has more of her father than her mother in her composition.”
They arrived at Euston; then there were fresh changes; a cab took them to Waterloo, where they once again entered the train.
“Tired, my dear niece?” said her uncle as he settled her for the final time in another first-class compartment.
“Not at all. I am too excited to be tired,” was her eager answer. And then he smiled at her, arranged the window and blind to her liking, and they started once more on their way.
Mr. Hartrick lived in a large place near Weybridge, and Nora had her first glimpse of the lovely Surrey scenery. A carriage was waiting for the travelers when they reached their destination—a carriage drawn by a pair of spirited grays. Nora thought of Black Bess, and secretly compared the grays to the disadvantage of the latter. But she was determined to be as sweet and polite and English as her mother would desire. For the first time in her whole existence she was feeling a little shy. She would have been thoroughly at home on a dog cart, or on her favorite outside car, or on the back of Black Bess, who would have carried her swift as the wind; but in the landau, with her uncle seated by her side, she was altogether at a loss.
“I don't like riches,” was her inward murmur. “I feel all in silken chains, and it is not a bit pleasant; but how dear mammy—oh, I must think of her as mother—how mother would enjoy it all!”
The horses were going slowly uphill, and now they paused at some handsome iron gates. These were opened by a neatly dressed woman, who courtesied to Mr. Hartrick, and glanced with curiosity at Nora. The carriage bowled rapidly down a long avenue, and drew up before a front door. A large mastiff rose slowly, wagged his tail, and sniffed at Nora's dress as she descended.
“Come in, my dear; come in,” said her uncle. “We are too late for dinner, but I have ordered supper. You will want a good meal and then bed. Where are all the others? Where are you, Molly? Where are you, Linda? Your Irish cousin Nora has come.”
A door to the left was quickly opened, and a graceful-looking lady, in a beautiful dress of black silk and quantities of coffee lace, stood on the threshold.
“Is this Nora?” she said. “Welcome, my dear little girl.” She went up to Nora, laid one hand on her shoulder, and kissed her gravely on the forehead. There was a staid, sober sort of solemnity about this kiss which influenced Nora and made a lump come into her throat.