[CHAPTER V.]
PAMELA saw the wagonette, too, as she perched on the chair, her head level with the high window. She was so surprised and fluttered that the Oriental bowl she was lifting down nearly dropped from her fingers. She called through the open door to Jethro:
“Here’s a carriage at the gate. Inside, an elderly lady and a girl with red hair. They are coming up the path.”
“Aunt Sophy—Mrs. Turle, of Turle House—and Nancy.”
“They have come to call on me.”
She gave a soft breath of satisfaction as she jumped from the chair; her best gown, her waved hair, were justified. She had only just time to add, “What a pity I hadn’t finished the china closet!” before they were announced, in rustic, familiar fashion, by the red-armed housemaid, who hadn’t yet changed her cotton gown for her afternoon stuff one.
Mrs. Turle was a big woman with a stately carriage. Nancy was slim, and either shy or stupid. She had a very white skin—the Turle skin, as Jethro had said. Whenever she spoke or was spoken to, a silly pink flooded her face. Her dress was precise and perfect in detail; the very best that the best shop in Liddleshorn could supply. Mrs. Turle, too, wore a stiff silk, and the set of golden sable which had been part of her wedding outfit, and was only just beginning to look damaged by moth. This was evidently a state call. Pamela saw her look swiftly round the room, as she threw back her net veil with the deep hem.
Jethro, after a few awkward words—he never excelled in the presence of women—went back to his stubble and his dog. Pamela was left alone with these two—evidently bent on criticism—who might or might not be of her blood. Mrs. Turle said, looking at her steadfastly:
“My dear, you are like Jethro’s mother. She died when he was born, you know. Always weak here.” She laid her plump hand on the sable that crossed her ample bosom. “I hope your chest is not weak. You don’t look very strong.”
“I am quite strong, thank you,” the new cousin returned rather awkwardly, conscious that Nancy was trying to puzzle out the construction of her coiffure.