CHAPTER III
[MR. ELY ARRIVES]
Miss Truscott was evidently not in the pleasantest frame of mind. It was unfortunate, for she was the kind of maid one feels instinctively ought always to be in a pleasant frame of mind. Tall, slender, with great, big eyes, sunny hair, and the sweetest smile. The latter, however, was conspicuous by its absence, as she sat at the breakfast-table with an open letter in her hand.
She was at breakfast with her aunt. Mrs. Clive was a precise old lady, who always indoors wore lace cuffs and collar, and the neatest of caps. It was a peculiarity of hers that she was never known to be anything but cool and self-possessed. Sometimes her niece was neither. Then it increased the young lady's sense of aggravation to observe how her aunt's demeanour contrasted with her own--as, for instance, it did now.
"You don't seem to be in the least surprised or annoyed or hurt. You quite take it for granted that I should be insulted."
Mrs. Clive considered for a moment before she answered. She sat bolt upright, her hands in her lap, the model of decorum.
"My dear Lily, the younger generation is impetuous."
Miss Truscott sighed. To be called impetuous under the circumstances of the case seemed almost more than she could bear.
"I write to my guardian on the whole four sides of a sheet of paper to tell him that I must get away from this dreadful place or I shall die, and this is the answer he sends."
She spread the letter out before her on the table and read it aloud, with comments by the way.