It was certainly a pretty place, in spite of the air of neglect and disuse that pervaded everything. A long narrow lawn in front ran down to the road; opposite was the smart grocer's shop, and the lane that led to the church and vicarage.
Some laburnums and lilacs grew near the house; there was a little border for flowers under the windows: only a ragged-looking Sweet-William and some weeds grew there now. Behind, an ill-kept lawn sloped down to the house, running on to the back door, giving it a waste, barren look, and imparting an air of dampness to the whole place.
The inside was a little less dreary: the low lattice window, odd-shaped and diamond-paned, gave a picturesque finish to the rooms; the little square hall was pleasant. There were two sitting-rooms, one much smaller than the other, with a front view that was sufficiently cheerful; and a large bare-looking apartment, with two windows looking out on the steep green waste behind. Nettles and docks and festoons of coarse-looking ivy climbed about the window ledges. The kitchen was small and dull. Upstairs, three rooms in different stages of dampness opened out on the dark landing. Some of the paper was torn off, and hung in moist curling lengths. A scurry and patter of tiny feet sounded beside them; they were evidently tenanted by families of mice.
"It is a miserable place after all," observed Cathy. "Take care, one of those boards are rotten, Emmie; my foot nearly went through just now."
"I don't know," returned Queenie, hesitatingly, "I think I have taken a fancy to it; it might be made very pretty with fresh papers and a little paint. To whom does it belong?"
"To Captain Fawcett. We are going there directly; Langley has given me a message for Mrs. Fawcett. Oh! do come to the window a moment, Queen; there is Mrs. Morris stopping at the corner to speak to the three Miss Palmers. Look at the dear old creatures, dressed just alike. There you have all the aristocracy of Hepshaw, with the exception of Church-Stile House and the vicarage people."
"Do you mean that constitutes your society?" inquired Queenie, pressing closer to the dirty panes, and trying to inspect critically the flock of womanhood gathered round Greyson's smart window.
"What would you ask more?" returned her companion drily; "we don't have balls and concerts in Hepshaw. To dine with the Fawcetts and drink tea with Mrs. Morris and the Miss Palmers are our sole dissipation. Ted finds so much tea a little intoxicating, and prefers sometimes staying at home; but Langley and Garth always do their duty manfully."
"I like the look of Mrs. Morris, she is tall and graceful-looking; but I cannot see her face under that brown mushroom. Is she nice, Cath?"
"Hum! there are widows and widows. She is not the 'widow indeed' St. Paul talks about; but I won't tell tales. She has a pretty home, and seven little hopes, more or less red-haired, like the deceased and ever-lamented Major Morris—the dear Edmund to whose loss she owes her present blighted and remarkably healthy existence."