As Norah reviewed the position, her eyes were opened to many things of which she had hitherto thought little. For instance, the difference between Jeannie Bellew's surroundings and her own had never troubled her in the least. Benvora was the home of wealth, and all the luxuries that money could buy were found in profusion beneath its roof.
In the Guinesses' rambling old house a new article was the exception, and there were few superfluities. Comfort and order prevailed in every part of it; but its contents had a well-worn look, which suggested that money was not too plentiful with its occupants. Yet the Guinesses were rather proud of their home, which, like their name, was no thing of to-day. The house had stood for many a year, and sheltered several generations of a family that was well respected far and near. Socially speaking, the Guinesses stood higher than the Bellews. Jeannie's father had begun the world with no capital, but good business talents combined with industry and perseverance. His wife's little fortune had enabled him to begin in a small way, and at forty-five he was a rich man.
In the old days—that is, two or three years before—Norah Guiness had never noted word or look on Jeannie Bellew's part that indicated a consciousness of the difference in their worldly circumstances. The latter had been rather proud than otherwise to call Norah her friend, and to be welcomed in the picturesque old house in which she was mistress. But when Norah went to see Jeannie as soon as possible after her return, she became conscious of a change in her friend. She could not have said in what it consisted, but there was a self-complacency about the girl, a manner which seemed to bid Nora realise all the advantages of her position when compared with those she possessed, that jarred on the visitor's sensitive nature.
She noticed how Jeannie glanced at her simple dress, and then looked down at the tasteful combination of soft falling silk, lace and ribbons, which was draped so gracefully about her own person; and how her fingers wandered for a moment amongst the folds, as if she found a subtle pleasure in touching the dainty materials, and mentally contrasting them with what met her eye as she looked at Norah.
Then again, when Jeannie returned the visit, Norah could not help seeing a sort of half-pitying expression on her face, as she looked round the drawing-room, and her eyes rested on its so-called ornaments.
"If I were you, I would make a clean sweep of a lot of these things. I know they have 'associations,' but I would pack them—associations and all—into a big box and put them in the garret. They would keep just as well there, and you might make this room one of the most picturesque places imaginable. I would help you, dear. I have seen so much since I left home that one could never get an idea of in this quiet place, you know," said Jeannie.
"I could never love any place so well," replied Norah; and she added, "I am not sure that I should care for the wider experiences you have had, especially if I must purchase them by previous illness. However, I am glad you have no longer that excuse for running away from old friends."
"I am very well now, but I am glad too that illness gives one many advantages. That is, if one's father has plenty of money. If I had never been ill, I should have been mewed up at Benvora, and seen nothing of the world. Now it is delightful to come back too, for a while, and to think over all the fun I have had."
Then Jeannie returned to the charge about the furniture.
"May I help you to remodel this room, Norah?"