'That will be very nice; but I want to see your mill first,' said Horatia. 'Is it near the house?'
'No; we passed it just now, when you said, "What a big stream of people!"' answered Sarah.
'But they didn't know you,' objected the other.
'Oh yes, they did—by sight, I mean. But what difference would that make? You don't expect them to nod to me, do you?'
'All our villagers do to me, even though I don't know them by sight,' said Horatia.
'Then they are different from our people, and perhaps there are not so many. We have over eight hundred men in our mill, besides women and boys.'
Horatia began to see that Sarah did not care to talk about mill-people, as she called them in her mind, and as they entered the park at the moment, and the house in another moment, she found other subjects for conversation.
Horatia was a year younger than Sarah and more than a head shorter, and a greater contrast than the two presented could not be imagined: the one tall, slender, dignified, with regular features and clear complexion; and the other short, square-set, with snub-nose and freckled skin, a face only redeemed from plainness by its merry, twinkling eyes and good-humoured mouth, which was always broadening into a smile.
Mrs Clay had seen Horatia Cunningham's photograph, so that she was prepared for a girl with a homely face; but most photographs flatter, and Mrs Clay had not expected to see any one quite so ordinary in appearance, 'an' that plainly dressed,' as she confided to her husband. However, she came forward with a hearty welcome, and as soon as Horatia smiled at her she forgot the slight shock her young guest's appearance had given her.
Horatia jumped out of the car as she had jumped out of the train. 'It is so kind of you to have me; and what a lovely view you have! One would never think the town was so near. I suppose it is hidden behind those trees?' she said.