"These," explained the big woman, in the condescending way which seemed to be a peculiarity of hers, "are some of the other Mrs. Bindons. I have not," she added, "been treated quite with the civility I should like, and have a right to expect, but on this side they're so old-fashioned."
"None of your old fashions for me, and none of your new ones neither. Give me the ways I'm used to. Where's them boys of mine?"
The thick-set woman stared at Mrs. Harland in a manner which suggested combat. The lady pressed her hand to her side. She felt at a loss for breath. Mechanically she crossed the room and rang the bell. The servant appeared.
"Tell the Masters Bindon that they are wanted in the drawing-room."
The servant gazed in amazement at the assembled congregation. The order had to be repeated before her faculties returned.
"Is that the hired gal?" inquired the thick-set woman directly the housemaid's back was turned.
"Servant, they call them here," explained the big woman in her patronising way.
The thick-set woman snorted. She glared at the big woman as though she were not grateful for the explanation. Silence prevailed. The nine ladies stared at Mrs. Harland. They seemed to be mentally appraising her. She herself appeared to be stricken with a sort of mental paralysis, as though the invasion had stricken her dumb.
At last--it seemed a very long at last--the door reopened, and there appeared the red-haired Master Bindon--John F. Stanley. His appearance was followed by another interval of silence. The ladies stared at him. He stared at the ladies. No enthusiasm was shown on either side. The thick-set woman broke the silence.
"So it's you?"