The butler stared, the footman stared. Raising her eyes as she passed under the great well of the staircase, Juliet caught the flash of a white cap hurriedly withdrawn. A baize door, obviously leading into the servants’ quarters, creaked eloquently upon its hinges. The back of Antony’s neck grew ever redder and redder as he led the way onwards; finally the drawing-room door was flung open, and across a space of chintz, and tapestry, and massed-up roses, Juliet beheld two figures rise hurriedly in welcome.
The aunt’s thin locks were parted in the middle, and surmounted by a lace cap with a lavender bow. She wore a douce black silk dress, with a douce lace collar. She looked Victorian, and downtrodden, and meek, and Juliet dismissed her in half a dozen words.
“She’ll swallow anything!”
The Squire had a short neck, a red face, steel blue eyes, and a white waistcoat. He stood about five feet four in his boots and bore himself with the air of a giant.
“He’ll swallow nothing!” was Juliet’s second diagnosis, and she braced herself for the fray. The introduction was simple in the extreme.
“This is Clare!” said Antony, whereupon Mrs Maplestone said hurriedly: “How d’you do. So pleased! You must have tea!” and the Squire said nothing at all, but cleared his throat, and pulled forward a chair. Then they all sat down, and Mrs Maplestone busied herself over the tea-tray, while her husband took his turn to stare.
He began at Juliet’s feet, and considered them judiciously. Large, but well shaped, wore a good boot. Next he studied her hands, cocking a jealous eye at the emerald ring. Large again, but white; good fingers; manicured nails. Thirdly he considered her figure, and was pleased to approve. Pine girl, some flesh on her bones, none of your modern skeletons. Last of all he looked at her face. “Humph! not so bad. Points; distinctly points! Antony was not such a fool as he looked!” In five minutes’ time the Squire could have passed an examination on the subject of Juliet’s appearance, and she realised as much, and felt correspondingly elated when the hard eyes softened, and an offer of hot scones was prefaced by, “My dear.” My dear had been examined and found correct. My dear was approved. By the time that cups were filled for the second time, the Squire had thawed to the point of jocularity.
“Well, Miss Clare, and what tales has this fine fellow been telling you about me? Wicked uncle, eh? Cruel ogre. Gouty old tartar, who insists upon having his own way, and bullies his unfortunate nephew till he is obliged to give in for the sake of peace? That’s it, eh? That’s what he told you.”
Juliet looked across at Antony, discovered him flushed, frowning, supremely uncomfortable, and tilted her head with a charming audacity.
“Does that mean that he was bullied into having Me? It wouldn’t be exactly ‘peaceful’ for him, if I believed that! He certainly would not dare to tell me anything so unflattering.”