“That’s a comfort!” remarked Mollie thankfully. “I am glad he did not see where we were going. How superior he looked when we were prinking, Ruth! I don’t like him a bit—do you?”
“Oh, I don’t know—I can’t think! I’m Berengaria, Mollie! I never was a poor girl travelling third-class, and changing her gloves at the last moment! I must have been a duchess in my last incarnation, for I feel so thoroughly at home in an atmosphere of luxury!” sighed Ruth, leaning back against the cushions, and glancing languidly from side to side. “Our luggage is following behind in the cart. I hope it will arrive soon, for I want to change my blouse. I suppose we shall have tea in the hall with the rest of the house-party, as they do in books, but I hope they won’t be assembled when we enter. I should feel awful walking in, and knowing that they were all staring and criticising our appearance, wouldn’t you?”
Mollie laughed gaily.
“Not a bit. I’d criticise, too, and shake hands high up—like this—and be pleasant and condescending. We are Uncle Bernard’s nearest relations remember, and the guests of honour... Now, we are beginning to go up the hill! You remember mother said there was a long, winding hill, and at the top to the left stood the lodge gates. Don’t talk! I don’t want to miss a single thing.”
So each girl stared steadily out of her window as the horses slowly mounted the hill path. For the first few hundred yards there were hedges on either side, and beyond them a wide, uneven landscape; then came a little village, grouped round a square “green,” with all the picturesque accessories of church, ivy-covered parsonage, thatched roofs, and duck-pond, which travellers look for in a well-conducted English village. This passed, there was another climb upwards, a wider view of the valley beneath, and finally a sharp turn to the left, and a long drive leading to the greystone Court, whose beauties photographs had made familiar.
The butler threw open the door as the carriage stopped, and the travellers thrilled with excitement as they crossed the threshold. First a square vestibule, then the great hall itself, stretching the whole length of the wing, and turning to the right by the foot of the staircase.
The girls’ eyes turned in a flash to the tapestry on the walls, and the wooden portraits of ancestors; but besides these historic relics there were many articles belonging to a later and more luxurious age. Carved oak tables, laden with books and magazines; chairs and lounges of every description; a fireplace brilliant with beaten copper and soft green tiles; leather screens shielding cosy corners; cabinets of china and curios.
It was even more imposing than imagination had painted it; but—there was no one there! No Uncle Bernard to speak a word of greeting; no flutter of silken skirts belonging to nice girls who had no sisters, and were dying to adopt other nice girls without delay; no scent of cigarettes smoked by interesting young men, who might have sisters or might not, but who would certainly be pleased to welcome Berengaria and Lucille!
Ruth had knitted her dark brows, and drawn herself stiffly erect; Mollie was prepared to smile in benign patronage on less important guests. It was a trifle disconcerting to see no one at all but a little, black-robed lady, who came hurriedly forward as they approached the staircase and stammered a nervous greeting.
“Miss Farrell! Miss Mary! I hope you have had a pleasant journey. I am Mrs Wolff. Mr Farrell was kind enough to ask me—yes! I hope you are not cold. Your uncle thought you would like to have tea in your own room. It will be brought up to you at once. Mr Farrell desired me to say that he wished to see you both in the library at half-past five. Shall I take you upstairs at once? We have given you one room—a very large one; but if you prefer to have two separate ones, it can easily be arranged—yes!”