“Perhaps I should not discuss the matter with you, dear Celia. You are so much younger than I. But, before I go, I want to have a long talk with your mother. I must tell you that I was completely mistaken about you all. I had no idea whatever that Winifred had such a home, such plain home duties and responsibilities, as I strongly suspect she has. I—I thought you were very poor, and that she had to earn money to help you all.”
Celia grew crimson, and almost gasped for breath. “Miss Norreys!” she exclaimed. Then she added eagerly, “Winifred did not mean to mislead you—she is not like that.”
“N-no,” said Hertha. “I was very indignant at first, but now I don’t think she meant anything, except at all costs to get her own way. Of course there was no calculated deceit about it, otherwise she would have found some means of preventing my coming here. But she has placed me myself in a very disagreeable position, as I must make her see. And she must face the consequences. But I should like to know—you have plenty of sense—do you think she is doing right?”
Celia was sorely pressed. Her loyalty to Winifred rose up in arms. But she was taken at a disadvantage: she had always believed that Miss Norreys had warmly aided and abetted Winifred in her search for a career.
“I—I am so surprised,” she said at last. “I suppose it is best for me to tell you the truth. Yes, at the bottom of my heart I now think—I did not always, but I do now—that she could find plenty to do, and plenty opportunities of being useful to others, here at home. Especially as—you know all that, I suppose? You know that all the property, and it is large, will be hers. She is in the position of an eldest son.”
More and more astonished, Miss Norreys felt at a loss for words.
“No, I had no idea of that,” she said. “That puts her duty beyond all question. I cannot understand her. I feel almost inclined to say I have no patience with her.”
In her excitement she walked on rapidly. They had just, for the second or third time in their stroll, reached the end of the long front terrace, where some steps led down to a straight but more shaded walk, running parallel with one side of the house. Hertha was beginning to go down the steps, when Celia laid her hand on her arm. Turning in some surprise, Miss Norreys saw that she was paler than usual.
“Not down there, please,” she said. “I do dislike that walk: it is so gloomy, and—to tell you the truth, that is the path leading up from the old bowling-green, that they say is haunted.” Hertha could scarcely help laughing. Here, in the broad daylight, it seemed so absurd to be afraid of such things.
“I should, all the same, like to explore it,” she said. “Now I come to think of it, I don’t think I have been down there at all. But of course we won’t go that way if you would rather not;” and she good-naturedly turned back.