We were met on the steps by an elderly, old-fashioned servant, in a clean white apron and a large cap, plaited round her face. She took us into the drawing-room, which was full of quaint and antiquated furniture, and abounded in sofas and arm-chairs, covered with very old-fashioned chintz.
In this room the three aunts were anxiously awaiting our arrival. They almost overwhelmed us with kindness, and insisted on our lying down to rest for half an hour on the comfortable sofas till tea was quite ready.
The room was very hot, there was a large fire, and huge screens stood before the doors, and sandbags and curtains excluded every possible draught from the windows. I felt very tired and worn out in mind and body, so I was not sorry to obey my kind hostesses and remain quiet for half an hour. It gave me time to think over the events of the past day, and also to look at Maggie's three aunts, who did not leave the room but went on with their work and their talk whilst we were resting.
The eldest sister, Miss Jane, was evidently the ruling spirit in the house. Her word was law, and her quiet firm decision settled every disputed question. There was plenty of firmness, plenty of good sense, plenty of real kindliness in her face, as she bent over the stocking which she was knitting in the most energetic manner, sitting in one of the large arm-chairs near the fire.
The second sister seemed to me to be a weak reflection of the eldest one, and, I soon found out, was quite ruled by her in everything, for she had not strength of character to settle anything on her own responsibility. If Miss Jane's word was law to her household, it was more especially law to Miss Hannah.
"What do you think, sister?" was the question repeated by her many times in the day, in answer to which Miss Jane would give her opinion calmly and decidedly, and that opinion was always conclusive.
The youngest sister, Miss Louisa, was considered an invalid. The best of everything was always given to her—the most comfortable chair and the warmest corner, the best seat in the carriage, and at all hours of the day little tempting dishes were brought up to induce Miss Louisa to eat. Miss Jane and Miss Hannah were never tired of waiting on her, and treated her almost like a spoiled child.
They were very kind to me, these three sisters, during my stay in the old Manor House. They even said how much they wished I would make my home with them; but, of course, I could never dream of being a burden to them; it was very kind of them to take Maggie, I must make my own way in the world.
Everything in the Manor House was in the most beautiful order. The carpets looked as if in the whole course of their existence they had never known what it was to have a speck of dust or piece of cotton left on them; the furniture was so bright that you could see yourself reflected in every part of it; the drugget on the stairs was spotlessly white, as clean as if it was washed every morning regularly; in fact, the most perfect neatness, and order, and cleanliness reigned everywhere throughout the old Manor House. There were no little children to make dirty foot-marks on the clean floors, or to soil the clean coverings of the chairs and sofas. And the regularity and punctuality in the house quite equalled its neatness and order. At exactly the same moment every morning Miss Jane came downstairs to make the tea. At exactly the same instant, day by day, the old servants came into the room for prayers. Meals were never a moment late—as the clock struck we all took our seats, and grace was immediately said. At exactly the same hour, every day, the sisters took their morning drive or their afternoon nap.
The whole place seemed like some huge clock which had been wound up years ago, long before any one could remember, and which had been going on and on and on ever since, without once needing to be wound up, or set going, or looked after again.