“Miss St Quentin,” they at last repeated, simultaneously, though not perfectly so—Madelene was a little behind the others and her “tin” came out last.
“I thought,” began Barnes again, “I took the liberty of thinking, it must be a mistake. From what I have ’eard, ma’am, I should say it was, so to say, a slip of the tongue, the young lady being accustomed to be so addressed, living at a distance, if so be as I shrewbly suspect that her rightful desergnation is Miss—Hella St Quentin, the third Miss St Quentin, ma’am.”
And again—too startled to feel any inclination to smile at the butler’s grandiloquence, which was often, almost more than any one’s risible nerves could stand unmoved—the three cousins looked at each other. And again they made simultaneously the same exclamation; this time consisting of but one word,—
“Ella!” they all three ejaculated.
Chapter Three.
“It is Really Ella.”
“What shall we do? What can be the matter?” said Madelene, when after an instant’s silence she began to take in the fact of Ella’s arrival.
“Receive her cordially of course. What else in Heaven’s name can you do?” Sir Philip replied with a touch of impatience. “After all there is nothing so extraordinary in a girl’s coming to her own father’s house—even taking refuge there if, as is possible—”