Adelaide enumerated a number of other accomplishments which her cousin did not possess, and concluded with, "I suspect if she once gets a footing here, we shall have her on our hands altogether."
Mrs. Evans only looked a reply, but it expressed a very emphatic dissent to this last remark.
"Must we wear mourning? Mr. Mirlees, as papa's brother-in-law, could hardly be called a relative."
"I fear we must, Augusta. It is very provoking, but society will demand this of us," said the mother.
"And we have chosen all our spring things."
"This year's fashions are too lovely," sighed Adelaide.
These girls had shed no tears for Mr. Mirlees, none in sympathy with the young creature whom death had left desolate. But their tears flowed freely at the thought of the cruel exigencies of society, which demanded the sacrifice of becoming gowns and bonnets, since their shapes and styles would be too old-fashioned for such devotees of the latest modes to wear again when they would be able to put off "that odious mourning."
Such were the people to whom and the home to which Joyce Mirlees came after her father's death.
The girl knew enough of her aunt and cousins to prevent her from expecting much tenderness or sympathy; but she was pained, and her uncle annoyed, to find that they were all out when she arrived at The Chase, though Mrs. Evans knew well at what time to expect the travellers.
There was, however, one warm heart ready to welcome Joyce. This was Sarah Keene, once her nurse. This woman had gone, widowed and childless—having lost her own husband and babe within a few days of each other—to be foster-mother to the child of Mrs. Mirlees, she being delicate, and unable to rear her little one without such help.