"I have made it already. She seems thoroughly good-natured, and saw the thing as it was--a misapprehension altogether. I'd rather have given a hundred pounds, though, than it should have happened. Why couldn't Penelope open her mouth and tell me she had come and was in the garden?"
He was splashing away at the water, having turned up his cuffs and his wristbands to wash his hands, evidently not on very good terms with himself. His wife put the doll's frock into her little ornamental basket and stood up to wait, watching him brush his hair. Then they were ready to go down.
"Clara."
"What?" she asked, turning round to him.
"Don't speak of this to any one, my darling. It really has annoyed me. I do not suppose Lady Ellis will."
"Of course I will not." And he bent his hot face over his wife's, and kissed it by way of thanks. "What is she like?" asked Clara.
"Young, and very good-looking."
A knock at the door. Mr. Lake opened it. There stood a fair girl of fifteen or sixteen, with soft brown eyes and a pale gentle face. Her hair, of a bright chestnut-brown, was worn plain, and her voice and manners were remarkably sweet and gentle. It was Anna Chester, Mrs. Chester's step-daughter. There was a sort of patient weary look about the girl, as if she had long had to do battle with care; her black merino dress, rather shabby, was only relieved by a bit of quilled white net round the throat, and plain stitched linen bands at the wrists.
"Mrs. Chester sent me to tell you that dinner is being taken in."
"We are ready for it. Here, Anna, wait a moment," added Mr. Lake, drawing her in and shutting the door. "What brings that Lady Ellis here? I thought she was not to come until Wednesday or Thursday."