When Things are at the Worst.
There was no waiting for tea this afternoon; on the contrary, when the three girls reached home, tea was waiting for them, and, beside the table, their mother, with unmistakable annoyance in her face.
“Why have you stayed out so late?” she questioned. “You know how it vexes your father; in fact, he has had tea and has gone back to the study.”
“I am very sorry, mamma,” said Frances. “It was thoughtless of me. We have been in the church with Mr Ferraby,” and she went on to relate the little incident of the lost brooch, and how cleverly Betty had found it, thinking that it would distract Lady Emma’s attention—in which hope she was not disappointed; so well did she succeed in gaining her mother’s interest that, under cover of the little narrative, Betty was able to steal from the room with the teapot and to obtain a fresh supply, without risk of tannin poisoning, unobserved.
Tea over, Betty and Eira disappeared, as was their habit, leaving Frances to entertain their mother, during what—in a very small country house, above all, one in which the family party is but seldom unbroken—is perhaps the dreariest hour of the twenty-four which make up a winter’s day and night.
Frances’ spirits rose on finding that her mother’s annoyance had been but passing. For half a minute she felt tempted to relate to her their conversation with the vicar, but on second thought she decided that it was better to avoid the always sore subject of the Craig-Morion inheritance. So she went on talking lightly and pleasantly on ordinary topics.
“I told you of Mrs Ramsay’s letter, did I not, mamma? She really seems to have fallen on her feet, and to be quite happy as a colonist’s wife.”
“Yes,” her mother agreed, with a little shudder, “though to me it is perfectly incomprehensible how any one, any lady—and Miss O’Hara was essentially a lady—can endure it.”
“She was so brave,” said Frances. “I often think, mamma, that I owe a great deal to her—or rather, to go to the root of it, to you, for choosing her so well.”
Her mother looked gratified. To do her justice, in spite of her cold reticence of manner, she was easily gratified, especially by any expression of appreciation from her eldest daughter.