“I saw your arrival some time ago, Claire,” said Mrs. Meredith, with a perfunctory kiss on both cheeks. “And I waited in the library for you.”
“My dear, I was so out of breath.” Mrs. Hull shook her head pathetically. “When you reach my age and, eh, circumference, you will understand, Belle, that I had to rest in the nearest chair.”
Mrs. Meredith prided herself on her figure, and her smile at Mrs. Hull’s remark was pitying.
“Julian should engage a chauffeur and permit you the use of his car,” she stated. “Come inside, Claire, and remove your coat and hat. You must stay to dinner.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“But you must.” Mrs. Meredith’s tone held just the right shade of cordiality, and Mrs. Hull looked hopelessly at her quick-witted daughter. But Lucille failed her by taking Mrs. Meredith’s side.
“Do stay, mother,” she urged, slipping her arm about her waist as they walked through the north door, through the reception hall and into the library. “It will be so nice to have you.”
But Mrs. Hull did not accept the chair her daughter led her to; instead she turned and faced Mrs. Meredith with simple dignity.
“Lucille has just told me of what transpired after Cousin John’s will was read this afternoon,” she began. “Do you think it proper that Lucille and I remain as guests at Ten Acres?”
A swift change passed over Mrs. Meredith’s handsome face, but one that neither of her guests could interpret. Advancing she laid her hand for an instant on Mrs. Hull’s ample shoulder.