“How surprised and charmed she will be!” said Jessie.
But Jessie little guessed that the girl in question loved a tiny chamber under a sloping thatched roof, with one wee, very wee, window, and a little feather bed on an old wooden bedstead, the bedding covered with a patchwork quilt. This was Peggy’s idea of a bedroom, the only one she had ever cared to occupy. From there she could let out a screech to the fowls if they tried to force their way in at an open window, which, as a matter of fact, they often did. From there she would halloo to her granny, as she sometimes called Mrs. O’Flynn, to inform her that Pearl or Rose or Dandy had laid another egg. Peggy’s window seemed to her to command her little world; a larger window would have been, in the girl’s opinion, more or less “ondacent;” “for sure,” she was heard to exclaim, once or twice, “ye don’t want to see too much of yerself when yer dressin’ or undressin’.”
The girls got the room into perfect order, and were disappointed when a telegram arrived announcing that Mr. Wyndham and Peggy would not put in their appearance at Preston Manor until about six o’clock that evening. He gave no reason for this delay in London. Mrs. Wyndham was pleased at having a few hours more without the objectionable child, and, in consequence, started off to see a special friend of hers, a certain Miss Fox Temple, who lived about three miles away. This lady’s name was Lucretia; she was very proud and stately, and lived at a beautiful place called Mulberry Court, which she had inherited from her ancestors. Miss Fox Temple was about forty years of age, had decided long ago never to marry, dressed well, lived well, entertained lavishly, and was much respected and looked up to by her neighbours. There were few people whose opinion was as well worth having as that of Miss Fox Temple. She was worldly without being silly; kind-hearted, but at the same time full of practical common-sense.
Mrs. Wyndham arrived at Mulberry Court about twelve o’clock, and after a brief interval, during which the two ladies exchanged commonplaces, she told her friend what had occurred. “I am really shaking in my shoes,” said the good lady, “you cannot imagine what it is to me. My dear husband, you know, in some ways is a trifle unreasonable. He was always devoted to that poor fellow Captain Desmond; and I don’t for a moment wonder, for he was really altogether charming. But to think of the Captain keeping the existence of that child a complete secret from all his friends; to think of his marrying a mere peasant girl, and then on his deathbed handing the child on to my husband as though he were giving him a fortune, begging of my dear Paul to do all he could for his orphan child! Of course every scrap of sentimentality in Paul’s nature is aroused to the uttermost.”
“It is certainly extremely disagreeable for you,” said Miss Fox Temple. “You say the child has lived all her life in a cabin in Ireland?”
“Yes, in the County Kerry, the very wildest, most uncouth part of that—in my opinion—uncouth island.”
“Well, I do pity you,” said Miss Fox Temple; “but now, my dear Lucy, won’t your husband be reasonable? If the child has lived all her life in a cabin, if she is the daughter of an Irish peasant woman, she simply cannot associate with your children.”
“That is precisely what I have said,” remarked Mrs. Wyndham, “but I assure you, that hasn’t the least effect on Paul. He says the girls must get accustomed to her and must train her, and when I suggested school he said, ‘I am quite agreeable, but she shall go to the same school as the children.’”
“What, to The Red Gables!” said Miss Fox Temple. “I really don’t think Mrs. Fleming will permit it even for a moment. I tell you what. I shall come over to see you to-morrow or next day, and I will have a talk with Paul.”
“He has a very great respect for you; I must say that, Lucretia.”