Eleanor took the silk, which was in pretty thorough confusion, and began the task of unravelling and untieing, preparatory to its being wound. This time Lady Rythdale did not turn away; she sat considering Eleanor, on whose white drapery and white fingers the green silk threads made a pretty contrast, while they left her helplessly exposed to that examining gaze. Eleanor felt it going all over her; taking in all the details of her dress, figure and face. She could not help the blood mounting, though she angrily tried to prevent it. The green silk was in a great snarl. Eleanor bent her head over her task.
"My dear, are you near-sighted?"
"No, madam!" said the girl, giving the old lady a moment's view of the orbs in question.
"You have very good eyes—uncommon colour," said Lady Rythdale.
"Macintosh thinks he will have a good little wife in you;—is it true?"
"I do not know, ma'am," said Eleanor haughtily.
"I think it is true. Look up here and let me see." And putting her hand under Eleanor's chin, she chucked up her face as if she were something to be examined for purchase. Eleanor felt in no amiable mood certainly, and her cheeks were flaming; nevertheless the old lady coolly held her under consideration and even with a smile on her lips which seemed of satisfaction. Eleanor did not see it, for her eyes could not look up; but she felt through all her nerves the kiss with which the examination was dismissed.
"I think it is true," the old baroness repeated. "I hope it is true; for my son would not be an easy man to live with on any other terms, my dear."
"I suppose its truth depends in a high degree upon himself, madam," said Eleanor, very much incensed. "Does your ladyship choose to wind this silk now?"
"You may hold it. I see you have got it into order. That shews you possessed of the old qualification of patience.—Your hands a little higher. My dear, I would not advise you to regulate your behaviour by anything in other people. Macintosh will make you a kind husband if you do not displease him; but he is one of those men who must obeyed."
Eleanor had no escape; she must sit holding the silk, a mark for Lady Rythdale's eyes and tongue. She sat drooping a little with indignation and shame, when Mr. Carlisle came up. He had seen from a distance the tint of his lady's cheeks, and judged that she was going through some sort of an ordeal. But though he came to protect, he stood still to enjoy. The picture was so very pretty. The mother and son exchanged glances.