“Ah, yes,” said Mr Greville, complacently, “that’s the worst of a large family.”
“The worst and the best too,” said Lilias. “If papa’s health did break down he would have us all to work for him.”
Mr Greville smiled—a not unkindly but somewhat dubious smile.
“Easier said than done, my dear girl,” he said. He rather liked to provoke Lilias into a battle of words, she grew so eager and looked so pretty when she got excited; he would not have objected to a daughter, or even a couple of daughters like her, though the bare thought of all the younger Westerns in the overflowing Rectory made him shiver.
But before Lilias had time to take up her weapons there occurred a sudden diversion. A ring at the front door bell, which, while talking they had not noticed, was followed by the announcement, by Mrs Greville’s maid, that a lady was asking for Miss Western.
“A lady for Miss Western,” repeated Mrs Greville. “Show her in then, Miller, at once.”
But the lady, it appeared, declined to be “shown in.” She had begged that Miss Western would speak to her for a moment in the hall, not feeling sure that there might not be some mistake.
“What a queer message,” said Mrs Greville. “Take care, Lilias; it is probably some begging person.”
“No,” said Lilias, with a sudden inspiration, as she turned to leave the room, “I don’t think it is. I do believe it is Mrs Brabazon.”
Her intuition was correct. Mrs Brabazon it proved to be. Mrs Brabazon on foot, with none of the apanage of the Brooke wealth about her except her richly comfortable attire and general air of prosperity and well-being. Only her kindly eyes had a somewhat careworn expression, and there were lines in her face which told of past and present anxiety. She received Lilias with cordiality almost approaching affection.