The room in which she sat was a proper frame for her personality. It was filled with objects, some of rare value, that had mellowed with age. The years had taken from everything its element of aggressiveness. The tapestries, the paintings, the books, the furniture, blended into harmony of soft and faded hues.
Lady Canning suffered considerable excitement at the prospect of seeing her only son once more, after an absence of ten months, not to speak of a certain anxiety regarding her daughter-in-law. Thurston had written, "I will not describe Indiana. I wish you to form your own impressions."
"My dear son had no idea I would suffer any suspense regarding his wife," she reflected, "otherwise he would have written me every particular. He doubtless thought I would have every confidence in his judgment. And my fears have probably not the slightest foundation. It seems impossible that my son should select a woman for his wife who would be unfitted for the position. And yet, it appears strange he should have gone so far away from home to choose a daughter for me. It is quite natural I should have preferred him to marry a woman in his own sphere, from another old, conservative English family. I should have felt surer, then, that there would have been no after-complications. There are so few left of the real conservative families. The watchword of the others is 'Progress.' They grasp, all too quickly, every new idea that claims to be an improvement on the old. But we are more careful—we cling to our traditions—our old ideals of life. There are none better. There is Lady Isabel Waring—still unmarried, not a beauty—but great caste—great caste. She would have been devoted to me." Lady Canning sighed and opened her eyes.
Jennings was lighting the candles in the tall, many-branching candelabras on the mantel. The Canning mansion, in common with other old London homes, had been fitted up with every modern improvement, including electric lights; but Lady Canning, when she was alone, still clung to the old-fashioned candle-light, claiming it was softer, more agreeable for her eyes. Jennings was still allowed to perform the function of many years, much to his delight. He had a deep-rooted hatred of all innovations.
"This suspense is quite natural," thought Lady Canning, "in spite of my confidence in Thurston. I am a mother. A mother fears everything—and hopes everything."
Jennings suddenly paused in his occupation and inclined his head, listening. Then he blew out his taper, and hurried to the window. "They're here, yer leddyship! Yer leddyship!" His voice quivered with excitement, and he looked apprehensively at his mistress, as though he feared she might faint or give way in some respect. She rose, supporting herself upon a cane.
"Jennings," she said in a strong voice, "you had better join the other servants in the hall. You will be the first for whom your master will look."
"Ye—es, yer leddyship."
"I am prepared for anything," thought Lady Canning. "But no matter how unfavorably I may be impressed at first sight, I must control my feelings for Thurston's sake. He will naturally be sensitive regarding her."
Thurston presented a beaming face to the servants, lining the hall, as he entered with his bride. Before he greeted them, he took Indiana in his arms and pressed a kiss on her lips.