She sat down, however, though rebellion and a little malice quickened the colour in her fair skin. Manvers looked longingly at the door leading to the garden.
"Shall I disappear?—or must I support you?"
"It all depends on what value you set on my good opinion," said Mrs.
Flaxman, laughing.
Manvers resettled himself in his chair.
"I stay—but first, a little information. The gentleman owns land here?"
"Acres and acres. But he only came into it about three years ago. He is on the same railway board where Hugh is Chairman. He doesn't like Hugh, and he certainly won't like me. But you see he's bound to be civil to us. Hugh says he's always making quarrels on the board—in a kind of magnificent, superior way. He never loses his temper—whereas the others would often like to flay him alive. Now then"—Mrs. Flaxman laid a finger on her mouth—"'Papa, potatoes, prunes, and prism'!"
Steps were heard in the hall, and the butler announced "Mr. and Miss
Barron."
A tall man, with an iron-gray moustache and a determined carriage, entered the room, followed by a timid and stooping lady of uncertain age.
Mrs. Flaxman, transformed at once into the courteous hostess, greeted the newcomers with her sweetest smiles, set the deaf daughter down on the hearing side of Mr. Manvers, ordered tea, and herself took charge of Mr. Barron.
* * * * *