There was a drawing-room with four fine doorways, the pediments enriched with Adam's mouldings; and here the stiff-necked, proud old dame received the Vicarage troop with evident desire to show that she considered herself fully as good as they, if not better.
Alfred, a really first-rate specimen of his class, in that riding dress which is the natural garb of the well-to-do Dalesman—who does not drive on his unspeakable roads unless obliged—atoned for his mother's lack of cordiality by the sincerity of his welcome.
He led them through the garden, gathering late roses and dahlias with a lavish hand; then in among the deep lush orchard grass, filling their hands with delicious apples. He sent a boy up the meadow to gather mushrooms for them to take home; but on Melicent's vehemently expressed wish, laughingly allowed them to do it for themselves.
Then, at the clanging of a great bell, they came back to the house, where, in the elegant, panelled dining-parlour, sat Mrs. Dow, presiding over a real Cleveshire tea—jam tarts, cheese-cakes, currant sandwiches, cartwheels, turnovers—pastry in all its forms; ham that must be tasted to be thoroughly appreciated, cut in wafer slices; heather honey in the comb; peaches, great, luscious, Victoria plums, black Hamburg grapes, the despair of Sir Joseph's head gardener, who every year saw "they Dows" take the prize over his head at the annual show.
Had Melicent been a little older, she would have been amused at the keenness of the old lady's scrutiny—her suspicious glances from one to the other in search of charms which should explain her son's sudden interest in the Vicarage lasses, an idea fully as repugnant to her as it could have been to the outraged Mrs. Cooper.
To look at the fine young man, with his good physique, excellent morals and clean ancestry, was to make one wonder what better fate would be likely to await one of these ordinary, ill-educated girls, samples of thousands of their kind scattered over the land. And, had the vicar's niece read "Cranford," she might have thought of the silent tragedy of Thomas Holbrook and little Miss Matty.
It was a satisfaction to Mrs. Dow that Alfred took more notice of Melicent than of any of the Miss Coopers. She took her for about the same age as the vicar's youngest; such a child could not be dangerous.
All tea-time young Dow was trying to draw her out, a task which was never easy; but every time he coaxed her out of a statement about Boers and their ways, he roared with appreciation of her crisp, incisive style.
Tea was half over when a horse was heard to clatter into the stable-yard. Melicent, who happened to be seated exactly opposite Gwen, saw her face suddenly suffused with an overwhelming, unbecoming blush. A minute later, a shadow darkened the window, and a voice called in greeting. It was Freshfield.
Of course he was invited in to tea, and he expressed himself greatly surprised at the company he found. Gwen had managed to seat herself near one end of the table, an empty chair beside her; to which the agent gravitated naturally.