Strangely enough, notwithstanding his imperfect knowledge of English, Pierre understood the last part of Phil’s speech, and his gestures were more vehement than ever as he assured Phil that he was mistaken. Miss Reinette cared for him very much indeed, and had asked much about him, and noticed him at the grave, and when he went by on horseback. It was business alone which had prompted her to send for monsieur; later she would be most happy to see young monsieur, her cousin.
Phil could not follow the old man readily, but he thought he made out that Reinette had sent this message to him, or something like it, and he changed his mind about starting for Martha’s Vineyard that afternoon, as he had half resolved to do. He would see Reinette first, and hear her speak to him face to face.
“Tell her I shall be there some time to-day,” he said to his more fortunate friend, the lawyer, who, nothing loth to meet the glance of Reinette’s bright eyes once more, was soon riding rapidly toward Hetherton Place.
Reinette’s head was worse than it had been earlier in the morning, but she insisted upon seeing Mr. Beresford, who was admitted at once to the room, which Mrs. Jerry had made as dark as possible, but which was still light enough for him to distinguish distinctly the little figure in pink and white, reclining in the easy-chair, with masses of long dark hair rippling down its back, and a wet napkin upon the forehead, partially concealing the eyes, which nevertheless, flashed a welcome upon him as he came in, feeling a little abashed in the presence of this foreign girl in her pretty dishabille, with her loose wide sleeves showing her round, white arms to her elbows, and her little high-heeled pink-rosetted slippers resting on the footstool. She, on the contrary, was as composed and unconscious as if he had been a block of wood, instead of a man, with all a man’s impulse to worship and admire.
“Oh, Mr. Beresford,” she began, offering him one wet hand, while with the other she took the napkin from her head, and, dipping it in the bowl of water on the stand beside her, wrung it lightly and replaced it on her forehead, letting a little of the fringe hang over her eyes while drops of water ran down her face and fell from the end of her nose. “Oh, Mr. Beresford, it was so kind in you to come so soon when you must have so much to do, but you see I could not wait, even though I have this headache. Mrs. Jerry said it was hardly the thing to receive you in this way, but a girl with the headache cannot be expected to dress as for a dinner, and I can’t bear my hair bound up, though I might fix it a little,” and with a dexterous, quick movement, Reinette took the whole mass of wavy hair in her hand, and giving it a twist and a sweep backward, wet the napkin again, and spatting it down on her forehead, went on:
“I must see you this morning, because father said I was to ask you every thing—trust you with everything—and I want to know—I want you to tell me—those peo—those ladies—my grandmother said she was coming to-day to talk over matters, and how can I talk if I don’t know what to say?”
Mr. Beresford was sure he didn’t know, and she continued:
“It may seem strange to you, who did not know father intimately, to knew how little he talked of his affairs to any one. Even with regard to mother, he was very reticent, and never told me anything, except that she died in Rome, when I was born, and that her name was Margaret Ferguson. I always thought she was English, and built many castles about her and her relatives, and so, you see, I was a little surprised yesterday when they claimed me—such a number of them, it seemed. Were there many?”
“Only three,” Mr. Beresford replied, knowing that she had no reference to Phil when she talked of “those people.”
“Yes, three,” she continued, “and I fear I was not as gracious as I might have been, for I was so astonished to be claimed when I did not know for sure that I had a relative in the world. Mr. Beresford, would you mind telling me all you know about my mother? Did she ever live in Merrivale? Did father find her here? Did she pick huckleberries with Mrs. Jerry, and cut up bits of calico for the sake of sewing them together again?”