He had lived in that house five-and-thirty years, beginning as shoe-black and errand boy, and he was proud to hear his master tell his friends how he had risen from the ranks. He had indulged in some mild philanderings with pretty parlour-maids in the days of his youth, but had never seriously entangled himself, and was a confirmed bachelor, and something of a misogynist. He was a pattern of honesty and conscientiousness, having no wife and family to be maintained upon broken victuals and illuminated with filched candle-ends or stolen oil. He had not a single interest outside his master’s house, hardly so much as a thought; and the glory and honour of “family” were his honour and glory. So, as he ushered Lady Carmichael and her husband to the drawing-room, he was meditating upon what additions to the luncheon he could suggest to cook which might render that meal worthy of such distinguished guests.
Sophia was seated by one of the windows, painting an orchid in a tall Venetian vase. It was a weakness with these clever girls to think they could do everything. They were not content with Darwin and the new learning, but they painted indifferently in oils and in water colours, played on various instruments, sang in three languages, and fancied themselves invincible at lawn tennis.
The orchid was top-heavy, and had been tumbling out of the vase every five minutes in a manner that had been very trying to the artist’s temper, and irritating to Janet, who was grappling with a volume of Johann Müller, in the original, and losing herself in a labyrinth of words beginning with ver and ending with heit.
They both started up from occupations of which both were tired, and welcomed their visitors with a show of genuine pleasure; for although they had been very determined in their resistance to anything like patronage on Juanita’s part when she was Miss Dalbrook, they were glad that she should be prompt to recognize the claims of kindred now that she was Lady Carmichael.
“How good of you to come!” exclaimed Janet. “I didn’t think you would remember us, at such a time.”
“Did you think I must forget old friends because I am happy?” said Juanita. “But I mustn’t take credit for other people’s virtues. It was Godfrey who proposed driving over to see you.”
“I wanted to show you what a nice couple we make,” said Sir Godfrey, gaily, drawing his bride closer to him, as they stood side by side, tall and straight, and glowing with youth and gladness, in the middle of the grave old drawing-room. “You young ladies were not so cousinly as your brother Theodore. You didn’t drive to Cheriton to welcome us home.”
“If Theo had told us what he was going to do we should have been very glad to be there too,” replied Sophy, “but he rode off in the morning without saying a word to anybody.”
“He is in Germany by this time, I suppose?” said Juanita.
“He is downstairs in the office. His portmanteau has been packed for a week, I believe,” explained Janet, “but there is always some fresh business to prevent his starting. My father relies upon him more every day.”