Things often go cross and contrary. They had not been expected until later, and Miss Blake had intended to preside--if it may be called
so--at both arrivals. As it happened, she had presided at neither. It was in crossing the lawn, that Lucy, radiant, blooming, joyous, ran out to meet her.
"Good gracious!" cried Miss Blake.
"Oh, Theresa, how beautiful and happy everything is!" cried the young wife, pushing back her bonnet to give and take the kiss of greeting. "Karl has been showing me the rooms. Hewitt said you would not be long."
"But when did you come, Lucy?"
"We came in by the four o'clock train, and took a fly. Here's my husband. Karl, do you see Theresa?"
Karl was coming down the terrace steps to greet her. Miss Blake advanced coldly.
"How do you do, Sir Karl?" and the hand she put into his seemed limp and cold. He did not look blooming; but worn, ill, and depressed.
They entered the hall together, the rays from the coloured windows shining on them and on the tesselated floor, lighting all up with a cheerful brightness. The reception-rooms were on either side the hall: they were what Sir Karl had been showing to his wife. Lucy declared it was the prettiest house she was ever in.
"I like this room better than any of the grand ones," spoke Miss Blake, leading to the little north room she generally sat in, where we saw her breakfasting with Mrs. Cleeve.
"It shall be called your room then, Theresa," said Lucy. "Oh yes, it is very pretty," she continued, looking at the light paper, flecked with gold, the light furniture with its crimson satin coverings, the various tasty objects scattered about, and the glass doors, wide open to the terrace, to the sweet flowers, and to the smooth lawn beyond.