Chapter Six.
Hope’s First Venture.
Miss Caldecott was tall and stout, had wavy hair and arched eyebrows, and wore a slightly decolleté gown of blue silk, a trifle soiled if you looked at it in a critical spirit, but wonderfully elaborate and becoming. The broad, beaming face was young, and but for its undue size would have been strikingly pretty. She looked at the sisters, showing her straight, white teeth in the most friendly of smiles, and squeezed Hope’s hand until she winced with the pain.
“How do you do, dear?” she said. “How d’do, dear?” to Philippa. “Wretched day, isn’t it? So good of you to come! Sit down and rest. I always flop on the sofa the moment I come in. So tiring dragging about, isn’t it? But you are thin. Wait until you get fat like me.”
Her shoulders shook; her eyes danced; the dimples dipped in her round, pink cheeks. Philippa and Hope were obliged to laugh in sympathy, but it was very embarrassing; she evidently mistook them for old friends. Hope cleared her throat and began the rehearsed explanation.
“I am Hope Charrington, and this is my sister. You knew my father—by name at least. You used to sing some of his songs.”
Miss Caldecott looked blank; then she began to laugh. It appeared that she was always laughing.
“Then I didn’t know you after all! Heaps of people come to see me, and I’ve the silliest memory—always forget what I ought to remember. Doesn’t make much difference, does it? I know you now. Sung your father’s songs, did I? Charrington! Charrington! Don’t remember. What were they called, do you know?”
Hope’s heart sank. She had expected the name to act as an open-sesame, and it was not even recognised.