Miss Delves made no reply. She ran upstairs, and opened a door, from whence came a warm glow of fire-light. "Wait there a moment," she said, looking round at me. "Mrs. Edwin Barley, the child has come."
"What child?" returned a voice—a young, gay, sweet, voice.
"Little Miss Hereford."
"My goodness! Come to-day! And I with no mourning about me, to speak of. Well, let her come in."
I knew my Aunt Selina again in a moment. She had stayed with us in Devonshire for three months two years before, when she was nineteen. The same lovely face, with its laughing blue eyes, and its shining golden hair. She wore an embroidered clear-muslin white dress, with low body and sleeves, and a few black ribbons; jet bracelets, and a long jet chain.
"You darling child! But what made you come in this strange way, without notice?"
"Mr. Sterling said he wrote word to you, Selina, that I should be here on Thursday. You ought to have had the letter yesterday."
"Well, so he did write; but I thought—how stupid I must have been!" she interrupted, with a sudden laugh. "I declare I took it to mean next Thursday. But you are all the more welcome, dear. You have grown prettier, Anne, with those deep eyes of yours."
I stood before her very gravely. I had dreaded the meeting, believing it would be one of sobs and lamentation for my mother: not taking into account how careless and light-headed Selina was. I had called her "Selina," since, a little girl of four, I had gone on a visit to Keppe-Carew.
Taking off my bonnet, she kissed me several times, and then held me before her by my hands as she sat on the sofa. Miss Delves went out and closed the door.