“Oh, they are of no use;” said the little woman, “it is my sister. She draws them sometimes. Indeed she paints them quite nicely, as like as possible. She takes such great pains.”
“Is she an artist?” said Lucy. It seemed necessary to say something, for the stranger with her good-humoured face stood still expecting a reply.
“Oh, no; she does not require to do anything. She does it for her pleasure. She has a great deal of education—now.” This was said with a look of some alarm behind her. Lucy turned and looked too; the other taller figure in sombre black garments had already reached the gate.
“It must be you who have come to the Wren Cottage,” she said; “everyone is known and talked about in a village; is it you that are Mrs. Arthur, or the other lady? I will come and see you, if you will allow me, on my next parish day.”
“O-oh!” the plump young woman gave a startled cry. “My sister is not seeing anybody.” Then her countenance recovered a little, and she said, “But I shall be glad—very glad to see you. Of course if she wishes to shut herself up, she can go upstairs.”
“I should not like to intrude upon anyone,” said Lucy, with a smile. She was a princess in her own kingdom, and no one could affront her. The idea indeed amused rather than offended her, that she could be supposed to intrude upon anyone in Oakley. The notion was delightfully absurd.
“Not intrude—oh, dear no, not intrude; but she has had a deal of trouble,” said the stranger, “a great deal of trouble; if she could be persuaded to see—anyone, it would do her good.”
“I will come,” said Lucy, with a friendly nod. She did not require to stand upon any ceremony with this homely little person; “and in the meantime the road across the Park is quite free. Good day,” she said, smiling. All other fancies flew away out of her mind at the sight of this rational common-place little person. She was not vulgar, certainly not vulgar, for there was no pretension in her; but certainly not in the least like——. Lucy had seen the Bateses, the family of Arthur’s wife; she had seen Sarah Jane in her cheap finery, and the mother in her big bonnet and shawl. Nothing could be more unlike them than this sensible little person in her plain neat mourning dress. She had seen them but for a few minutes, it is true; but the recollection of florid beauty, of flowers and ribbons, and flimsy fine dresses, and boisterous manners of the free and easy kind was strong upon her; and this little woman was quite sensible and simple. What fantastic notions people take into their heads! there was evidently no mystery or difficulty here, she said to herself smiling, as nodding again to the new-comer, she resumed her walk at a quicker pace, and made her way henceforth undisturbed to the Hall.
CHAPTER VI.
“WHY did you speak to her? why didn’t you just make our excuses and come on?” said the younger to the elder. “I thought you would never be done talking.”