“Mr Milner for one,” said Mrs Webb, at which the sisters’ faces fell. “But the other’s a Mr—no, to be sure, I’ve forgotten it; but it’s some gentleman as is thinking of taking the place for a while!”
Chapter Three.
Mr Milne and Another.
Luncheon at Fir Cottage was not an attractive meal. Perhaps the least so of the three principal repasts of the day. There was a certain flavour of early dinner about it, recalling the days of the sisters’ childhood, when roast mutton and rice pudding formed, with but little variety, the pièce de résistance of the daily menu, though for Mr Morion himself there was usually some special and more attractive little dish.
But to-day the walk in the fresh invigorating air had given the two elder sisters a satisfactory appetite, in which, chilblains notwithstanding, Eira was seldom deficient.
Frances and Betty had returned only just in time enough to make their appearance punctually in the dining-room, and in the first interest of hearing how her commissions had been executed, Lady Emma forgot to question them as to the result of their intended inquiries at the Craig-Morion Lodge. Not so Eira. She was fuming with impatience all the time that Frances was repeating the laundress’ excuses for the faulty condition in which Mr Morion’s shirt-fronts had been sent home, or Betty explaining, for her part, the reason why she had brought a packet of oblong instead of square postcards. Eira’s opportunity came at last.
“And what about the big house?” she exclaimed.
“Oh, yes,” said her mother, eagerly enough; for which her youngest daughter mentally blessed her, saying to herself that, after all, “mamma was not without some points of sympathy.”