It was a long, narrow room, lined with book-shelves, and the solitary light from a crimson-shaded lamp on the central table gave an air of gloom after the bright illumination of the hall without. On a lounge-chair beside the table sat Bernard Farrell, looking more cadaverous than ever, with a velvet-skull-cap over his whitened locks. He did not rise as his great-nieces approached, but held out his hand in a greeting which was courteous enough, if somewhat cold.
“How do you do? I am pleased to see you. Excuse me for not having met you earlier, but I am not feeling well to-day. I trust you have received every attention since your arrival at the Court. Mrs Wolff had my instructions to look after your comfort.”
“Thank you, yes; we had tea in our room—a lovely room. We are looking forward to enjoying the view from that splendid window!”
“Ah, yes; it is very fine in clear weather! Please make yourselves at home, and ask for anything that you need. The servants are good, but they are unused to visitors. Have no hesitation in keeping them up to their duties. Will you be seated? In a few minutes we can, I hope, begin the business of the hour.”
He waved them towards some chairs which were ranged before his table. Four chairs! In the twinkling of an eye the girls had grasped both the number and what it implied. Two other guests at least were at present in the house, and equally interested with themselves in the coming discussion. Their advent was evidently momentarily expected, for Mr Farrell turned an impatient glance at the clock, and even as he did so the door opened once more and two young men entered the room. One was tall and dark, with an olive skin, and a curious, veiled look about his eyes, caused by the presence of short but abnormally thick black lashes. Viewed in profile the lashes entirely hid the eye, but the effect of the thick black line was, singularly enough, rather attractive than the reverse. He had a dark moustache, and his chin was square and well-developed.
His companion was—well! the girls felt that they might have guessed it before, as one of the awkward things which was bound to happen. He was the stranger of the railway carriage, the supercilious personage whom they had flattered themselves they would never see again!
Like the two girls, the new-comers had evidently not seen their host before, for they were greeted by him with practically the same phrases; and then came a general introduction.
“I must make you known to your fellow-guests—Mr Jack Melland, Mr Victor Druce—Miss Farrell, Miss Mary Farrell. Mr Melland and Mr Druce are great-nephews of my late wife. Miss Farrell and her sister are my own nephew’s only children.”
The two young men turned towards the girls with curious glances. Over Mr Jack Melland’s face flitted an amused glance of recognition. His companion’s dark eyes widened with a curious scrutiny; then the lashes dropped, and hid them from sight. Seen thus, with mouth and eyes alike veiled, the face was a mask devoid of expression; yet Mollie had a conviction that she had surprised something closely approaching disappointment in that fleeting glance. Why the sight of Ruth and herself had affected the stranger in so unpleasant a fashion it was difficult to understand; but the impression remained. Her eyes travelled upward to the face of Jack Melland, and marvelled at the contrast.
“His face betrays him, in spite of himself. His nostrils alone would give him away,” she told herself, smiling. “He is cross, the other inscrutable; Ruth is frightened, and I am amused. We look like four school-children seated in a row, with Uncle Bernard as the teacher... When is the lesson to begin?”