“Yes,” she said, “I can easily do so.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Hebe in a tone of relief.
Then a day and hour were rapidly decided upon, and in another minute or two the sisters found themselves outside the vicarage, on their way home, after saying good-bye to Mrs Harrowby, cordially on Blanche’s part, most cordially on that of the vicar’s wife, somewhat stiffly on Stasys. Mr Dunstan held the door open for them as they passed out, and his markedly deferential bow somewhat smoothed the younger girl’s ruffled plumage.
“That man knows how to behave like a gentleman,” she said. “Who is he, Blanchie? Have you seen him before?”
“Yes,” said Blanche; “he was at Alderwood the afternoon mamma and I called there. I thought he was quite a boy—he looks very young—but I’m not sure about it now. Something in his way of speaking and his manner altogether make me think that perhaps he is older than he looks.”
Stasy listened with interest.
“I like him,” she said decidedly, and for the moment Blanche forgot the expression on her sister’s face which had made her hasten the leave-taking.
“What was the matter, Stasy?” she asked, when it recurred to her. “Why did you look so vexed and uncomfortable?”
“Uncomfortable!” repeated Stasy. “Oh dear, no. I am not afraid of any of those people. They couldn’t make me uncomfortable. I was only angry—very angry. What do you think Mrs Harrowby said?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Blanche. “When I looked across at you, I thought you were getting on so well. Lady Hebe said that that was Miss Milward whom you were talking to, and that she is so nice.”