The girls protested that they wished to be together, and followed their guide up the broad staircase to a room on the first story, where the curtains were already drawn, and a cosy tea-table spread before the fire. Mrs Wolff had called it large, and she might truthfully have used a more emphatic word, for what had originally been the best bedroom in the house had been, like the drawing-room beneath, enormously enlarged by the addition of a curved, mullioned window, the entire width of the floor.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine! Nine dear little windows!” counted Mollie rapturously, as the door closed behind the figure of the lady chaperon. “What a view we shall have to-morrow morning, Ruth! Sofas, armchairs, writing-tables, two long mirrors to show the set of our skirts—this is a room after my own heart! I shall have one exactly like it when I marry my duke!”
“But I didn’t expect to have tea in it, all the same,” Ruth objected, as she took off her hat and jacket. “The house feels very quiet and deserted. If we hadn’t uncle’s own word for it, I should think there was no one here except ourselves. He might have come to meet us himself! It seems so cold to leave us to strangers!”
“You will be disappointed, my dear, if you expect warmth from Uncle Bernard. My short interview taught me so much, at least. But he wants to see us at half-past five, Ruth. I’ll prophesy something—he is going to talk to us about the ‘important matters’! It would be just like him to explain his position before we have been an hour in the house, so that there can be no misunderstanding. I’m right—I know I am! We are on the eve of solving the mystery!”
Ruth shivered, and drew closer to the fire.
“Don’t make me nervous. It will be bad enough when it comes to the point, without thinking of it beforehand!” she cried.
And it was all the easier to change the conversation, as at that moment a maid entered with a tea-tray and a plate of hot, buttered scones.
Tea after a journey is always a most enjoyable meal, and when it was over the girls made as careful a toilet as could be managed with the materials at hand, the heavier luggage not having yet made its appearance. Shortly before half-past five a tap came to the door, and a maid entered with a double request.
“I have come to show you the way to the library, miss; and if you would kindly give me your keys before you go, I will have your boxes unpacked. What dresses would you like to wear for dinner?”
The horror of that moment was never to be forgotten. Before Ruth’s eyes there arose, as in a vision, the patches on the under-sleeves of her morning blouse, the faded dressing-gown, the darns, and make-shifts and pitiful little contrivances of poverty. Her cheeks flamed before the sharp eyes of the abigail, and then flamed again with scorn at her own folly.