"She is when she likes, I believe. I don't know much of her myself. She has a temper, they say--but then she has been so much indulged."
"She is very handsome. But she's not in the least like Mrs. Darling."
"She is very much like her father. Mrs. Darling's fair, Mr. Norris was----"
A clear, sonorous voice, calling "Benja," interrupted the words. Honour heard it, for it penetrated even above the shouts of the boy and the creaking of the steed. It was a call she was accustomed to. Often and often, in passing through the hall, going out or coming in, had Mr. St. John thus summoned his child.
"Not the horse," said Honour to the boy, as she picked him up. "Papa's calling. Benja shall come back to the horse by-and-by."
Mr. St. John was in the hall, waiting. He took the child from Honour, kissed him lovingly many times, and then carried him into the drawing-room. Honour followed. She had not been told to go down, and there was an irrepressible curiosity in her mind to see Mrs. St. John.
She was seated alone, near the window, with a work-box before her and some embroidery in her hand, looking as much at home as though she had always lived there. Her raven hair was partially turned from her forehead, showing off the finely-cut but very thin features. Turning her head quickly at the opening of the door, she saw her husband enter.
"I have brought you Benja, Charlotte. He must make acquaintance with his mamma."
She rose with a smile, her dark-blue silk dress gleaming brightly from its ample folds, met them midway in the room, and took Benja. The boy, rather astonished perhaps at the summary proceeding, stared at her from his wide-open great grey eyes.
"You will love mamma, Benja?" she said, kissing him tenderly; and she placed him on her knee and held up to him her shining gold chain, as she had done some two or three months before. "Mamma means to love Benja."