Lawyer Ed presented his charge in his most affable manner, and Miss Armstrong smiled upon him graciously and upon her with some reserve. A boarder, after all, had to be kept at a distance, even though she were the daughter of an old friend.
"And how is Grandma, to-day?" enquired Lawyer Ed. "And Annabel? Isn't she home?"
"Mother has gone to bed this afternoon, Edward, but she is very well, I thank you. She will be disappointed when she hears you were here. Annabel has gone to the meeting of the Club. She will be back presently. I remained at home to welcome Miss Murray."
"Good-bye just now, then, my child," he said paternally, taking Helen's hand. He saw the homesick anguish returning to her big eyes, and he squeezed the hand until it hurt. "You'll have a great time in Algonquin, never fear. The air here will bring the roses back to your cheeks. Won't it, Elinor?"
Miss Armstrong agreed and bade him a gracious good-afternoon, moving out on the steps to see him to the gate. She then led the way up the long steep stair. The ceilings of Rosemount were very high, and every step echoed weirdly. They went along another hall upstairs flanked by two terrible pictures, one a scene of carnage on land—Wellington meeting Blücher on the field of Waterloo, the other an equally dreadful scene on water—Nelson's death on the Victory. Her bedroom was a big airy place, stiff and formal and in perfect order. The ceiling again impressed her with its vast distance from the floor. In the centre of this one, like the others, was a circular ornamental device of plaster; flowers and fruit and birds, and great bunches of hard white grapes that looked ready to fall heavily upon one's head. One end of the room was almost filled with a black marble mantel and over it hung a picture of Queen Victoria with her family, in the early days of her married life. There was a big low bed of heavy walnut, four high windows with stiff lace curtains, a circular marble-topped table and a tiny writing desk. Miss Armstrong assisted her to remove her hat, expressing the hope that she had had a pleasant trip from Barbay. Helen did not say that her heart had been aching all the way. She merely assured her that the trip had been very comfortable indeed, and that Captain McTavish had done everything to make it enjoyable.
"Jimmie McTavish is a kind creature," said Miss Armstrong. "Very ignorant, and too familiar entirely; but he is well-meaning, for all that. Now, I hope you will feel perfectly at home with us here, Miss Murray. Your father's daughter could not but be welcome at Rosemount. Indeed, I am afraid, had you not been a clergyman's daughter, I should never have consented to taking you. Having any one to board was so foreign to our minds. But Mr. Brians begged us to take you. You see he is chairman of the school board, and always sees to it that the young persons who teach have suitable homes."
"I am so sorry if my coming has inconvenienced you," stammered Helen, for Miss Armstrong's manner was very impressive.
"Oh, not at all, I assure you. When we heard who you were, we consented with pleasure. We have so much more room in this big house than we need. There is a very large family of us, Miss Murray, as you will discover, but now there are only my mother and my sister and I left at Rosemount." Her face grew sad. "But indeed I sometimes have thought recently," she added, growing stately again, "that my dear father would turn in his grave if he knew we were filling Rosemount with boarders."
She paused a moment, and the strange girl was wondering miserably if she should take her bag and move out to some other place, rather than risk disturbing her father's old friend in his last long sleep, when Miss Armstrong went on. "I hope you won't mind, Miss Murray, you are to be as one of the family, you know, and if you would be so good—" she hesitated and a slight flush rose in her face.
"Yes?" asked Helen wonderingly.