'It's a French name,' she said, with smiling apology, handing it to
Miss Anna.
Miss Anna glanced at it, and then at the bearer.
'Kindly step this way,' she said, pointing to the parlour, and holding her grey-capped head rather impressively high.
Madame de Pastourelles obeyed her, murmuring that she had sent her carriage on to the Dungeon Ghyll Hôtel, whence it would return for her in an hour.
Eugénie had made her first speech—her first embarrassed explanation. She and Miss Anna sat on either side of the parlour table, their eyes on each other. Eugénie felt herself ill at ease under the critical gaze of this handsome, grey-haired woman, with her broad shoulders and her strong brows. She had left London in hurry and agitation, and was, after all, but very slenderly informed as to the situation in Langdale. Had she inadvertently said something to set this formidable-looking person against her and her mission?
On her side Miss Anna surveyed the delicate refinement of her visitor; the black dress so plain, yet so faultless; the mass of brown hair, which even after a night's railway journey was still perfectly dressed, no doubt by the maid without whom these fine ladies never venture themselves abroad; the rings which sparkled on the thin fingers; the single string of pearls, which alone relieved the severity of the black bodice. She noticed the light, distinguished figure, the beauty of the small head; and her hostility waxed within her. John's smart friend belonged to the pampered ones of the earth, and Miss Anna did not intend to be taken in by her, not for a moment.
'Mr. Fenwick has been terribly overworked,' Eugénie repeated, colouring against her will, 'and yesterday he was quite broken down by your letter. It seemed too much for him. You will understand, I'm sure. When a person is so weak, they shrink—don't they?—even from what they most desire. And so he asked me—to—to come and tell Mrs. Fenwick something about his health, and his circumstances these last two years—just to prepare the way. There is so much—isn't there?—Mrs. Fenwick cannot yet know; and I'm afraid—it will pain her to hear.'
The speaker's voice faltered and ceased. She felt through every nerve that she was in a false position, and wondered how she was to mend it.
'Do I understand you that John Fenwick is coming to see his wife to-night?' said Miss Mason at last, in a voice of battle.
'He arrives by the afternoon train,' said Eugénie, looking at her questioner with a slight frown of perplexity.