“I thought I was never going to get here again, and that the end of everything had come,” she exclaimed, as she threw herself into the most luxurious of the wicker chairs, the pride of the sisters’ little sitting-room, which Eira drew forward for her eagerly, as soon as her bright face was perceived at the door.
By good luck, as some special formalities in the shape of curtains changing or something of the kind were taking place in the drawing-room, a pleasant fire was burning in the little grate, for however bright and sunny spring days may be, it is rarely the case that their close is not chilly. And Lady Emma was herself spending the afternoon with her husband in the study.
“How cosy it is in here!” Madeleine went on. “I just managed to escape before I was caught for tea. When Elise is there I really don’t see that it does her any harm for her to act daughter of the house—every one knows that mamma and she are devoted to each other.”
“Then you have not had tea?” said Frances quickly, “nor, for a wonder, have we. Eira—” but Eira had already disappeared, returning in an incredibly short time, followed by the parlour-maid and a welcome little clatter of tea-cups, for Madeleine’s attractiveness had not stopped short at winning the younger members of the household—Mr Morion appreciating her quick intelligence, and Lady Emma often declaring that Miss Littlewood’s manners reminded her of the days of her own maidenhood, when the young knew what it was to pay some deference and attention to their elders—thanks to which fortunate circumstances, “tea in our own room” had been more readily conceded than would otherwise have been the case.
Frances glanced at their guest with a little smile, though she waited to speak till the servant had closed the door behind her.
“You are not quite,” she said, “in your usual spirits, Madeleine.”
“No,” was the honest reply. “Somehow Elise seems to rub me the wrong way this time more than usual, and it makes me blame myself, for I know she means to be nice, and she is really interested in the old place and all about it, as she should be, of course.”
She did not allude to, or even hint at, her sister-in-law’s “tone,” when “those other Morions,” as she called them, had been spoken of, though this had, in point of fact, been the chief cause in her own mind of the annoyance she had experienced—annoyance the more difficult to pass over philosophically as it had to be borne in silence, past experience having well taught her that any expressed disagreement with Elise, on her part, was sure to do more harm than good.
“And for Horace’s sake,” she said to herself, “I must be as wise as possible. Perhaps when she sees them for herself, if I don’t set up her opposition, she will be won over, to some extent at least.”
“Poor Madeleine!” said Frances sympathisingly, “yes, I agree with you. I think that sort of thing is more trying than—almost than a quarrel, an honest quarrel, between friends even, which often puts things right again.”