"Yes ma'am--my master gave orders that you should be expected."
"Is all well, Popham?"
"All is well, madam!"
"Is Lady Peterborough here?"
"His lordship and Lady Peterborough arrived the day before yesterday," was the succint reply.
Drawing Fleda's arm within hers and giving kind recognition to the rest who stood around, Mrs. Carleton led her to the stairs and mounted them, repeating in a whisper, "He will be here presently again." They went to Mrs. Carleton's dressing room, Fleda wondering in an interval fever whether "orders had been given" to expect her also; from the old butler's benign look at her as he said "All is well!" she could not help thinking it. If she maintained her outward quiet it was the merest external crust of seeming; there was nothing like quiet beneath it; and Mrs. Carleton's kiss and fond words of welcome were hardly composing.
Mrs. Carleton made her sit down, and with very gentle hands was busy arranging her hair, when the housekeeper came in; to pay her more particular respects and to offer her services. Fleda hardly ventured a glance to see whether she looked benign. She was a dignified elderly person, as stately and near as handsome as Mrs. Carleton herself.
"My dear Fleda," said the latter when she had finished the hair,--"I am going to see my sister--will you let Mrs. Fothergill help you in anything you want, and take you then to the library--you will find no one, and I will come to you there. Mrs. Fothergill, I recommend you to the particular care of this lady."
The recommendation was not needed, Fleda thought, or was very effectual; the housekeeper served her with most assiduous care, and in absolute silence. Fleda hurried the finishing of her toilet.
"Are the people quiet in the country?" she forced herself to say.