Lilias smiled.
“Oh, yes,” she replied. “I am quite sure of that. Mamma remembered Mrs Brabazon by name. She was a Miss Brooke, and her father and my grandfather were first cousins. These Brookes are the elder branch.”
“But who are they?—I mean, how many are there of them?” asked Mrs Greville. “Why is Mrs Brabazon always with them?”
“The mother is dead, I am sure of that,” said Lilias, “and I think Mrs Brabazon has kept house for Mr Brooke since her death. It was Mary that told us all we knew, and she heard it from some ladies she met at your house.”
“Of course,” exclaimed Mrs Greville, in a tone of relief, “the Morpeths—you remember, Charles? Oh, yes, of course, it is all right. Frances Morpeth was always saying how nice Mrs Brabazon was. I am sure you are quite right to cultivate the acquaintance, Lilias. Don’t you agree with me, Mr Greville?”
“I suppose so,” said Mr Greville, lazily. “But I hope the cultivation of it will not absorb you altogether, Lilias. It would be wretchedly dull in these stupid lodgings without you, my dear, to argue with and contradict, and look at.”
“You need not be afraid. I am not going to desert you,” said Lilias, laughing, as she left the room.
“That girl really grows prettier and prettier,” said Mr Greville. “She is much more amusing, too, than her sister Mary. I fancy Mary is something of a prig; there was no getting a smile out of her the last time she was over with us. Lilias is brighter than ever I knew her, full of fun and pleased with everything.”
“She is very nice,” agreed Mrs Greville. “But they are both very nice. I am not at all sure but that it is Mary who has the lion’s share of the work at home. How pleased I shall be if anything comes of these new relations.”
“Umph,” said Mr Greville.