A few minutes later the carriage was driven to the door—the snow having become so soft they were obliged to return to the city on wheels—when Mrs. Goddard came hurrying from the dining-room, where she had been giving some last orders to the servants, and bidding Edith follow her, passed out of the house and entered the carriage.
Edith was scarcely seated beside her when Emil Correlli made his appearance and settled himself opposite her.
The young girl flushed, but, schooling herself to carry out the part which she had determined to assume for the present, made no other sign to betray how distasteful his presence was to her.
She could not, however, bring herself to join in any conversation, except, once or twice, to respond to a direct question from madam, although the young man tried several times to draw her out, until, finally discouraged, he relapsed into a sullen and moody silence, greatly to the disgust of his sister, who seemed nervously inclined to talk.
Upon their arrival in town, Mrs. Goddard remarked to Edith:
"I have been obliged to take, for a servant, the room you used to occupy, dear; consequently, you will have to go into the south chamber for the present. Thomas," turning to a man and pointing to Edith's trunk, "take this trunk directly up to the south chamber."
Edith's heart gave a startled bound at this unexpected change.
The "south chamber" was the handsomest sleeping apartment in the house—the guest chamber, in fact—and she understood at once why it had thus been assigned to her.
It was intended that she should pose and be treated in every respect as became the wife of madam's brother, and thus the best room in the house had been set apart for her use.
She knew that it would be both useless and unwise to make any objections; the change had been determined upon, and doubtless her old room was already occupied by a servant, to prevent the possibility of her returning to it.