The next two or three days passed quickly and pleasantly to Annette; "the dear Fairy Order," as Lottie had called her playfully, during their first morning's work together, was already exercising her beneficent sway on her companion's behalf—tasks that would have entailed hours of labor on Lottie were now finished long before the luncheon-bell rang. After Annette's long, solitary days passed in that dark room in the Rue St. Joseph, these two or three hours spent with Lottie, listening to her broken French, and interspersing laughing corrections, seemed merely playtime to Annette.
"Do you know Averil is fitting up a room for us?" remarked Lottie, on the morning of the eventful Tuesday when Averil was to hold her reception, and about a hundred and fifty people had accepted her invitation to come and be bored. "She does not like the idea of our sitting in my bedroom. There is a room that is never used at the end of the corridor, and she is having it repapered, and has chosen such a pretty carpet for it; it is to be half workroom and half study; and the piano that is in Rodney's room is to be taken up there for your use. You see, Averil is so thoughtful, she never forgets anything, and she says it will never do for you to annoy people with practicing scales and beginner's exercises down in the morning-room."
"Oh, that is wise, I have thought much of this difficulty, Lottie. You are very outspoken—ought you to have told me all this? Did not my cousin mean to give me this little surprise?"
Lottie laughed, but she had the grace to look ashamed of herself.
"My dear Fairy Order," she said, "I never can hold my tongue. Averil thinks I must talk even in my sleep. Well, it was naughty of me to betray Averil's nice little scheme. You must just pretend to be surprised when she shows you the room. You must open your eyes widely, and say—"
"But that would be deceitful," returned Annette, gravely. "You are a funny little person, Lottie; you would even recommend me to deceive. Ah! it is your joke," as Lottie only laughed again. "You are always so ready with your joke, you will not make me believe you. When Averil shows me the room, I shall thank her with all my heart, but I will not be surprised—not one little bit."
"You are very provoking," returned Lottie, pouting. "If you had not darned Maud's white silk stockings so beautifully, I would not forgive you so easily. But you are such a dear old fairy. Ah! here comes Averil with Motley's 'Dutch Republic;' she is going to read to us for half an hour;" for after this pleasant, desultory fashion Lottie's education was carried on; but it agreed with her wondrously well—she sipped knowledge as sweetly as a bee sips honey.
Annette felt unusually gay that morning; she found it a little difficult to concentrate her attention on the reading. Down-stairs the rooms were decked with flowers, as though for a fête; her new dress had come home, and she was longing to try it on. She wondered how Averil could sit there reading so quietly, as though no hundred and fifty people were coming. "It must be that she wishes to shut out the thought of them all," Annette said to herself; and her shrewd surmise certainly grazed the truth. Averil was nervously dreading the ordeal; with all her passionate desire for human sympathy, her very real love of human kind, these vapid interchanges of compliments, that passed under the name of receptions or At Homes, were singularly distasteful to her. How could conversation be carried on in a crowd? How could one enjoy one's friends when civilities had to be exchanged with strangers? Averil's world was not theirs; her ardent and earnest temperament could only expand in a higher temperature. She had not the graceful art of saying nothings; the trifling coinage of society, its passwords, its gay bandinage, were unknown to her. Without being awkward—Averil was never awkward—she was at once too grave and too reserved to make a popular hostess; and though her gatherings were successful, and people liked to come to Redfern House, they were more at their ease with Mrs. Willmot and her daughters. "Such a charming, well-bred woman!" was the universal verdict. "Such a model stepmother!"
Averil could scarcely eat the luncheon that was served, for the sake of convenience, in Rodney's snug little den. The other rooms, with the exception of Averil's, were thrown open en suite—tea and ices and strawberries were to be served in the dining-room; the drawing and morning-rooms were for the reception; there were tent-like awnings from the windows; the lawn was dotted over with red-cushioned chairs and Japanese umbrellas; and the grand piano was ready for the professionals.
Annette had put on her pretty black summer dress, and was regarding herself with a grave, satisfied air when Averil entered. She had a little case in her hand, and a tiny bouquet of creamy rosebuds and maiden-hair.