“Thank you, it will be better so; good-by.”
There was another up and down courtesy from Mrs. Lydia, another cold, stately bow from Miss Anna, whose turned-up hat, cream feather, blue sash, and long lace scarf, Reinette noted a second time, and then the ladies walked to the Beresford carriage, where Phil was waiting for them.
“Well, we’ve seen the great sight. Pray, what do you think of her?” Anna asked him when they left the cemetery and turned into the highway.
Phil did not like the tone of her voice, and was on his guard at once.
“I’ve not seen enough of her yet to have an opinion,” he said; “nor can she appear herself. She is in great trouble, and all alone in a strange country. We must make every allowance for her.”
“Yes, of course; I knew you’d stand up for her, just because she’s a Hetherton and rich,” Anna replied. “For my part, I hate her!”
This was Anna’s favorite expression if she did not like a person, and she went on:
“If we had been the lowest people living she could not have shown more contempt for us. I know she had never heard of a soul of us till to-day, and I just wish you could have seen her when grandma claimed her as a grandchild. Where were you, Phil? What was keeping you?”
He explained where he was, and she continued:
“You might have spared yourself the trouble. I don’t believe she’ll thank you. She just threw her head back and stared at grandma in such an impertinent way that I wanted to box her ears, especially when she said so haughtily, ‘Madam, I don’t understand you.’ She might have added, ‘and I don’t believe you either; my mother never came from such stock.’ That’s what she meant, and what her eyes and voice expressed. I don’t believe she looked at ma or me, though she did just touch the tips of my fingers. She had taken off her veil at grandma, and torn off her gloves for us—cotton, they were, too; and when you came, and grandma said, ‘Here’s another cousin,’ she snatched off her sailor hat and fanned herself rapidly, as if you were the straw too many. Yes, I hate her, and I think her just as homely as she can be, with her turn-up nose and lip. She’s as black, too, as the ace of spades, and those great, big, staring eyes are as insolent and proud as they can be, but I dare say you and Mr. Beresford are both in love with her.”