“Yes, the darling! She was just three years old; a perfect 192 angel of a child! and Bertie was a year older. Poor Magdalene! it is no wonder she is as she is,—no husband and children! When she sent for me I came at once, though I knew how it would be.”
“You knew how it would be?” repeated Phillis, in a questioning voice, for Miss Mewlstone had come to a full stop here. She looked a little confused at this repetition of her words.
“Oh, just so—just so. Thank you, my dear. You have done that beautifully, I am sure. Never mind what an old woman says. When people are in trouble like that, they are often ill to live with. Magdalene has her moods; so have we all, my dear, though you are too young to know that; but no one understands her better than her old Bathsheba; that is my name, and a funny old name too, is it not?” continued Miss Mewlstone, blinking at Phillis with her little blue eyes. “The worst of having such a name is that no one will use it; even father and mother called me Barby, as Magdalene does sometimes still.”
Bathsheba Mewlstone! Phillis’s lip curled with suppressed amusement. What a droll old thing she was! and yet she liked her, somehow.
“If she takes it into her head to come and see you, you will try and put up with her sharp speeches?” continued Miss Mewlstone, a little anxiously, as she tied on her bonnet. “Mr. Drummond does not understand her at all: and I will not deny that she is hard on the poor young man, and makes fun of him a bit; but, bless you, it is only her way! She torments herself and other people, just because time will not pass quickly enough and let her forget. If we had children ourselves we should understand it better, and how in Ramah there must be lamentation,” finished Miss Mewlstone, with a vague and peculiar reference to the martyred innocents which was rather inexplicable to Phillis, as in this case there was certainly no Herod, but an ordinary visitation of Providence; but then she did not know that Miss Mewlstone was often a little vague.
After this hint, Phillis was not greatly surprised when, one morning, a pair of gray ponies stopped before the Friary, and Mrs. Cheyne’s tall figure came slowly up the flagged path.
It must be owned that Phillis’s first feelings were not wholly pleasurable. Nan had gone out: an invalid lady staying at Seaview Cottage had sent for a dressmaker rather hurriedly, and Miss Milner had of course recommended them. Nan had gone at once, and, as Dulce looked pale, she had taken her with her for a walk. They might not be back for another hour; and a tete-a-tete with Mrs. Cheyne after their last interview was rather formidable.
Dorothy preceded her with a parcel, which she deposited rather gingerly on the table. As Mrs. Cheyne entered the room she looked at Phillis in a cool, off-hand manner.
“I am come on business,” she said with a little nod. “How 193 do you do, Miss Challoner? You are looking rather pale, I think.” And then her keen glance travelled round the room.
The girl flushed a little over this abruptness, but she did not lose her courage.