The family at Vine Cottage used the same room to eat in and sit in. It was larger than the small drawing-room behind, which only commanded a view of the vegetable garden and Dan’s studio.
From the dining-room there was a view of the road, which Miss Linkin appreciated, because she elected to sit by the window in the afternoon. Her mornings were consecrated to domestic affairs. Mrs. Webster, in her capacity of invalid, did nothing but sit and knit, except on her “better days,” when she would go as far as the Dulwich picture gallery—or if it were a Sunday, to church. Isabel usually lent her mother an arm to church, and Mrs. Webster never failed to remark in an injured voice: “My son ought to be doing this. Never make a mixed marriage, Isabel; it is so inconvenient to have your children brought up in different religions. I did think that perhaps, after your father died, Dan would change over and become Protestant.”
And Isabel would invariably reply: “I don’t see that the Catholic faith is any worse than the Protestant; moreover, I should have thought less of Dan if he had ‘changed over.’”
It was twilight when Dan reached home, but the lamp in the dining-room had not yet been lit.
Dan, entering at the small wooden gate, saw the familiar face of Miss Linkin at the window. He had known that he should see it, just as certainly as he should see the cottage.
He came into the dining-room in his usual breezy fashion, flinging down a coat and a bag, and kissing his mother affectionately and asking after her health, then giving a “duty” kiss to Miss Linkin, who observed that his moustache was all wet with dew, and afterwards, with the air of protest, removed the coat and the bag to the passage outside.
“Oh, Aunt Lizzie!” exclaimed Dan a moment too late, “why didn’t you let me do that?”
“It is no good expecting you to be tidy, Dan,” she answered with a sigh which bore a strong resemblance to a groan.
“I am an untidy beggar,” acknowledged Dan cheerfully, “I am incurable, I fear. But, oh, I am so hungry!”
“The meal will be ready at half-past six,” said Miss Linkin, with an air of finality.