But, after all, something interesting did come of the visit, as I will tell you.
We were ushered into the drawing-room—'the ladies were at home,' he said—by an oldish man-servant, with a nice face.
Into our own drawing-room—how funny it seemed! And already it did not seem quite our own, not the same. There were little changes in the places of the furniture, and there were unfamiliar odds and ends about, which made it feel strange. I was rather glad that there was no one in the room to receive us, and I squeezed mamma's hand tight, and I am sure she understood, and we both had time to get our breath, as it were, before any one appeared.
When some one did come, nevertheless, we were taken a little by surprise, for she—it was Miss Trevor—entered by the window, and I had been looking towards the door. There are long, low-down windows in the drawing-room, and at one side a terracey sort of walk, which is very pleasant for sitting out on, in summer especially, as it is well shaded.
Immediately I saw her I felt she was nice. She seemed older than mamma, though perhaps she was not so really. Her face was very quiet—that is the best word for it, and though I was so young then and knew so little of life, I felt that it was a face that had grown quiet through goodness. Even now I do not know much of Miss Trevor's history, but mamma has been told enough of it to make her think very highly of her.
WE WERE OUT ON THE TERRACE, AND MRS. TREVOR COMING TO MEET US.
There was not the least bit of hardness, scarcely even of sadness in her expression, but just a look—a look that made one feel that she had come through sorrow, and could never care very much about anything for herself again—anything here, I mean.
'I am so sorry,' she said at once, in a nice, hearty way, 'to have kept you waiting. It is such a lovely afternoon that mother and I have settled ourselves outside!'