Outside in the hall Mildred stood still, and pointed through the closed door with an outstretched finger.
“What in the world is—That?”
“‘That!’ What? Do you mean lady Sarah? Oh, Mildred, do be careful!” chorused the twins. “She might come out. She might open the door and hear you! She is Lady Sarah Monckton. Her husband died in India. He was a sort of connection of Father’s, so she comes here once or twice a year to consult him about her affairs.”
“A sort of connection! What sort? Near or far? Do you know her well? Shall I hurt your feelings if I say anything disagreeable? No. I’m so glad. I’ll tell you then—I—don’t—like—her—at all!”
The sisters looked at each other and smiled. They had evidently expected something more scathing in the way of denunciation, and were not inclined to condemn Mildred for her opinion.
“Well, no; of course not. Nobody could! We always look upon her as a Trial!” said Bertha pensively. “She makes Mother ever so much stricter than she would be if she were left alone, and thinks it improper for a young lady to do anything that is nice. We were sorry that your visits should have come together, but it could not be helped. Perhaps she won’t interfere so much when we have a visitor!”
“She has taken a dislike to me, so I expect I shall have the benefit! Didn’t you see the way she glowered at me through those awful glasses? Why does she look like that? Is she a young woman with an old face, or an old one with young clothes? Why can’t she be contented to be one thing at a time? Is she going to make a long visit?”
“I don’t know. She has brought a maid and heaps of dresses, so I suppose she is. Mother says we must remember that she is very old, and has had a great many troubles, and try not to annoy her—”
“Your mother is a dear!” Mildred cried enthusiastically. “I will be nice to Lady Sarah to please her, but I don’t believe she is at all inclined to be nice to me. We will see.”