She looked so pretty and so winsome as she glanced at him with her childlike eyes that his face relaxed from its set lines, and he smiled in involuntary friendliness.
“A few years ago it would have been a record day, a day to put in the papers, but now it is nothing at all extraordinary. In shooting, as in everything else, the standard has risen, and we are less easily satisfied. It is an age of great expectations; don’t you think so?”
“I don’t know,” said Hope again; but her brow clouded, and presently she asked in an anxious little voice, “Do you really think the standard has risen in everything! Would it be more difficult to do well in—er—in any profession, for instance, than it was a dozen years ago! Would you have to be much cleverer?”
“Oh dear, yes! certainly you would. It is a different thing altogether. A dozen years ago people were easily pleased, and ready to make allowances, but nothing short of perfection satisfies us nowadays. The days of the amateur are past; even professionals need constant study to maintain their high standard.”
“Y-es,” assented Hope faintly. She thought of her poor little songs, of Theo’s “worrying” story, and Madge’s poster-like pictures, and felt a sinking of heart that took away her appetite for scones and plum-cake. She and her sisters had thought themselves geniuses at dear little Leabourne, but three months’ experience of London had brought a bitter disillusionment. She stared at the ground, and Mr Merrilies in his turn stared at her charming profile, and sighed to think that the prettiest girls were generally the most stupid. He was unfeignedly relieved when Avice came forward to take her cousin upstairs to dress for dinner.
The room which had been set apart for Hope was one of the smallest and least handsomely furnished in the house, as became the abode of a poor relation; but it looked attractive enough, all the same, with a bright little fire burning in the grate and the curtains drawn cosily over the windows. Hope’s box had already been unpacked, and as there could be no question of “What will you wear for dinner?” there lay the black silk on the bed, solid and sober. Avice glanced at it carelessly.
“Oh yes, that will do very well. We shall be quite alone,” she said, with a nod; then leant against the mantelpiece and smiled at her cousin with languid friendliness. She gave the impression of wishing to be really kind, but of lacking the energy to put her intention into effect; as a matter of fact, the girl was too anaemic to feel keen interest in anything or anybody. “Sure you have all you want? If you require anything just ring, and it will be brought to you at once. You needn’t be downstairs for an hour and a half. There are some books over there if you would like to read.”
“Couldn’t you stay and talk to me?” asked Hope shyly; but Avice thought not—thought she had better lie down—thought there would be plenty of time to talk another day, and glided listlessly away, leaving the new-comer chilled and disappointed.
A little reading; a home letter written with a “detaily” description of journey, arrival, and first impressions; a careful if simple toilet, made short work of the hour and a half’s waiting, and Hope stopped shyly out of her room to find her way along the corridor. Half-way down a door creaked, a pair of dark eyes peered cautiously forth, followed by the whole of a curly dark head, and Miss Brunette’s voice accosted her with the ease and geniality of an old acquaintance.
“There you are! I have been looking out for you for an age! Do come and lace up my dress, there’s a kind creature! I have rung the bell three times over, but I suppose it is broken, as nobody has appeared. I didn’t bring a maid with me this time; did you?”