“The right thing to do would have been to send the girl off to that man who treats hysteria,” she said; “he would soon have brought her to her senses. What good can the mother do?—a silly woman telling all that nonsense that the girl can’t hear, and would not care for if she did! Rhoda likes it, to be sure,” she said, with a short laugh; “and perhaps she thinks that to make an impression upon Rhoda, who will be an heiress, is always worth her while.”
“It is no part of your business, or mine either, to judge Mrs. Asquith,” young Darrell said impatiently; but there could be little doubt that he was disappointed too. The effect of the mother’s first appearance had not been what he hoped.
“And here we’ve brought in, against all our promises, just the last person in the world that ought to be admitted into this house.”
“I made no promises,” said the young doctor hurriedly. “How could I on this subject? No one could have foreseen such a combination of circumstances—a near relation when we expected a stranger.”
“Only a cousin,” the housekeeper said quickly; “but now the thing is to get rid of her as soon as possible, and in the meantime to keep her completely in the—— Good gracious! I beg your pardon, ma’am,” cried Mrs. Mills, quickly stepping out of the way.
“I knocked, but you did not hear me,” said Mary. “You forget that I know my way about this house.” She passed the housekeeper by, and came up to where Darrell was sitting, and drew a chair to the table near him. “I have got my poor child to bed. She looks as if she had fallen asleep; whether it is sleep or stupor I can’t tell, but she is very quiet. Now will you tell me how it happened?” Mary said. Her voice was very quiet, but very serious—not the voice of one who was to be trifled with. Instinctively both the listeners perceived this. Darrell cast an anxious, almost imploring glance into the surrounding dimness of the half-lighted room, and the housekeeper stirred from one foot to the other with an involuntary motion. She had not thought much of Mrs. Asquith as an antagonist, but now she began to change her mind.
“How it happened?” said the young doctor, faltering. “I am afraid it was a fright. She got a—fright.”
“We cannot tell exactly how it happened,” said the housekeeper quickly, “for it happened in the middle of the night.”
“But you must have some sort of understanding. A thing like that can’t happen in a house without some one knowing. How was it? even if you can’t tell me what it was.”
“It all arose from this, ma’am,” said the housekeeper, “that Miss Asquith would have her window open at night. Some people I know have fads on that subject; if I asked her once, I asked her a dozen times not to do it, but she would. She would not be guided by me.”