"She has not a soul belonging to her, at least in England," he said once, "though she has relations in New Zealand, uncles and aunts and cousins. There is a colony of Williamses in Christ-church. The worst of it is people seemed to have left off calling, her father made himself so disagreeable; it is hard lines for her, poor girl. I believe Mrs. Tolman looks her up occasionally." Then Olivia, at the mention of the vicar's wife, made a naughty little face.
"Miss Williams rather dreads her visits," she replied. "She calls her an east-windy sort of person, and I know what she means. Mrs. Tolman is an excellent woman, but she rubs one up the wrong way. I always feel bristly all over after one of her parochial visits, and I know Aunt Madge feels the same. When the vicar is with her he seems to tone her down somehow, but the very swing of her gown as she enters the room, and the way she sits down, as though she were taking possession of one's chair, irritates my nerves," but though Marcus laughed he did not contradict this.
The new friendship gave Olivia a great deal of pleasure. Since her school-days she had never enjoyed the society of anyone of her own age. The hard-working young governess had had scant leisure for cementing intimacies.
It had always been a wonder to her how Marcus had managed his courting, and she often told him so. She had met him at the house of one of her pupils, and, it being a wet day, he had offered his umbrella, and walked back with her to her lodgings.
She had a vague idea that he had detained her for such a long time talking on the doorstep that her mother had come down and invited him to wait until the rain was over, but Marcus always repudiated this, and declared that she had talked so fast that he found it impossible to get away; but after this he and her mother had seemed to play into each other's hands.
Perhaps under other circumstances Olivia would hardly have found Miss Williams so attractive and interesting, for, though amiable and affectionate, she was by no means clever. Her accomplishments consisted in a tolerable knowledge of French and Italian picked up abroad, but she had no decided tastes. She read little, knew nothing of music, and her chief pleasure seemed the care of her flowers and her beautiful needlework, for some French nuns had taught her embroidery and lace-making. Olivia, who was intellectual and well read, and who thought deeply on most subjects, had soon reached the limits of Greta's knowledge, but happily there is culture of the heart as well as of the head.
Greta had plenty of sweet, womanly virtues. She was patient by nature and capable of much long-suffering and endurance. Her affections were warm and deep, but she had hitherto found no fitting scope for them. The sad grey eyes told their own story: her youthful bloom had been wasted amid sterile surroundings. Greta Williams had one of those strong womanly characters that are meant to be the prop of weaker natures, that are veritable towers of strength in hours of adversity. It was for this that Olivia grew to love her when she knew her better.
"She is so patient," she said once when she was discussing her with Mrs. Broderick. "She has so much staying power, and then she never quite loses her faith in anyone, however hopeless they seem. Even Marcus has said more than once that her pluck is wonderful, but of course it wears her out."
"You must bring her to see me, Livy," returned Aunt Madge. "We will have a little tea party, and Deb shall distinguish herself," but Greta only smiled faintly when Olivia repeated this.
"Some day, perhaps," she said, quietly, and then her eyes had suddenly filled with tears. "Oh, Mrs. Luttrell, we have had such a dreadful time. Nurse only left him a minute, and he managed to get to the brandy. It must have been Roberts's fault that the cellarette was unlocked, but ever since he has seemed quite mad; we were obliged to send for Dr. Luttrell." And then at the thought of the grim shadows brooding over that unhappy home, Olivia's little plans seemed out of place.