“No one ever rapped my knuckles,” said Norah loftily. “You told Hilary a few minutes ago that none of you had seen him, and that your mother had engaged him entirely on her friends’ recommendation. So you can’t know what he is like, or anything about him!”
“How do you know that the friends did not describe him?” cried Rex quickly. “You can’t know what they said. I tell you he is a tall, cadaverous fellow, with a stoop in his back and a white beard.”
“Black! black! You said black last time,” cried Norah in triumph. “You are making it up, and I could imagine what he is like as well as you, if I liked, but I won’t, because it is so horribly uncomfortable when you really meet. I tried that trick with Lettice once, when a friend of Miss Briggs came to visit us. She was a very nice old lady, and awfully kind (she made me a sweet little pin-cushion for my room), but she was ugly! She looked just like a fat, good-natured frog, with light eyes very far apart, big, big freckles spotted over her face, and such a great, wide mouth. Well, I saw her first, and then I went upstairs, and Lettice met me and asked me what she was like. I felt mischievous, so I said that she was dark, and tall, and stately, with a long, thin face, and beautiful, melancholy eyes. Lettice went rushing downstairs, and when she saw her she stopped quite short, and began to choke and gurgle as if she were going to have a fit. She pretended that she was laughing at something Raymond was doing in the garden; but it was horribly awkward, and I vowed I’d never do it again. I should hate people to laugh at me, and it’s unkind to do things that you wouldn’t like other people to do to you—I mean—you know what I mean!”
“I know,” said Rex gravely. He looked quite serious and impressed, and Norah cast inquiring glances at his face, wondering what he could be thinking of, to make him so solemn all of a sudden.
At last, “Look here,” he said, “talking of meeting strangers, don’t stare at poor little Edna when you meet! There is—er—something—about her eyes, and she is very sensitive about it. Try and look as if you don’t notice it, you know.”
“Oh, I will!” cried Norah gushingly. She knitted her brows together, trying to think what the “something” could be. Something wrong with her lungs, and something wrong with her eyes—poor Edna! she was indeed to be pitied! “I am glad he told me, for I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world,” she said to herself; and many times over, during the course of the next hour, did her thoughts wander sympathetically towards her new companion.
It was a long, cold drive, but Norah could have found it in her heart to wish it were longer, as the dog-cart turned in at the gate of the Manor House and drew up before the grey stone porch. Mrs Freer came into the hall to welcome her guest, with a grey woollen shawl wrapped round her shoulders, and her little face pinched with cold.
“How do you do, dear? I’m afraid you are quite starved. Come away to the fire and get thawed before you go upstairs,” she said cordially; and Norah followed, conscious that a girl’s head had peeped out of the door to examine her, and then been cautiously withdrawn. When they entered the room, however, Miss Edna was seated demurely behind a screen, and came forward in the most proper way to shake hands with the new-comer. Norah was only conscious that she was tall, with narrow shoulders, and brown hair hanging in a long plait down her back, for the fear of seeming to stare at the “something” in her eyes about which she was so sensitive, kept her from giving more than the most casual of glances. Conversation languished under these circumstances, and presently Mrs Freer took Norah upstairs to her room to get ready for lunch. Before that meal was served, however, there was another painful ten minutes to go through downstairs, when the mistress of the house was out of the room and Rex came in to take her place. Edna was reported to be shy, but in this instance it was Norah who was tongue-tied, and the other who made the advances. It is so extremely difficult to speak to a person at whom one is forbidden to look. Norah fixed her eyes on Edna’s brooch, and said, “Yes, oh yes, she was fond of skating.” Questioned a little further, she gave a rapid glance so far upward as to include a mouth and chin, and was so much abashed by her own temerity that she contradicted herself hopelessly, and stammered out a ridiculous statement to the effect that she never used a bicycle, that is to say always—when it was fine. Edna sat silent, dismayed at the reality of the sprightly girl of whom she had heard so much, and it did not add to Norah’s comfort to hear unmistakable sounds of chuckling from the background. She darted an angry glance at Rex, scented mischief in his twitching smile, and turned at bay to stare fixedly into Edna’s face. A broad forehead, thin cheeks, a delicate pink and white complexion, dark grey eyes, wide open with curiosity, but as free from any disfigurement about which their owner could be “sensitive” as those of the visitor herself.
“Oh—oh!” gasped Norah. Rex burst into a roar of laughter, and Edna pleaded eagerly to be told of the reason of their excitement.
“He told me I was not to look at you. He told me—there was something—wrong—with your eyes; that you didn’t like people to stare at you. I—I was afraid to move,” panted Norah in indignation.