“Oh, but I don’t want to feel like that!” said Sheila quickly. “That would be wrong and ungrateful. Uncle Tom has been so kind. You are all kind. Only—only—I haven’t often been away from home; and it seems all so strange; and there isn’t any more home left behind—that is what is the strangest thing of all!”
Her voice broke for a moment, and Cyril put out his hand and laid it on hers in token of comprehension and sympathy; but there was no time for more words, for the group in the middle of the room broke up.
There was a stir at the door, and two maids appeared with the tea-table and equipage; and Sheila found herself the centre of attraction as the lamp shed its light over the darkening room, and everybody gathered round the fire to discuss hot cakes and steaming cups of tea, whilst they “took stock” of the new cousins and tried to make them feel at home.
Cyril spoke the least now; but Sheila was conscious that he looked after her wants with a gentle consideration, and she felt grateful to him, and stole glances at him from time to time, wondering what made him so different from all the rest. All were kind and cousinly, and seemed interested in her, and liked to hear her talk; but there was a difference—a quiet sympathy about Cyril’s manner which was totally distinct from the friendliness of the rest. He reminded her of the world in which she had been accustomed to move. Everything else was different, the very atmosphere seemed changed, though she could not have accounted for or defined the change.
Ray took her upstairs at last.
“I am glad you are to stay a day or two here. This is our spare room. Oscar has the little one. We could not take you in for good, or it would have left us no spare room at all. Besides, they want you up at Cossart Place. I wonder how you and Effie will get on. This cold spell has made her breathing bad; but she is beginning to look forward to your coming.”
“Didn’t she like it at first?” asked Sheila, reading something between the lines.
“Well, you know, Effie is a bit crossgrained. If she thinks of a thing herself, she’s as keen after it as possible; but if somebody else suggests it, she takes a dislike to it directly. It’s partly because she’s out of health, and partly because she’s been so spoiled. I get along with her very well, though she’s not always in the sweetest of tempers. But then perhaps none of us are!” And Ray laughed, showing her white even teeth.
Ray stayed and helped Sheila to unpack the one box which had come to River Street. Her heavy baggage had been sent straight to Cossart Place.
“We don’t have a maid here; but Effie has one. I daresay she’ll share with you. You’ve been used to one, I expect. You have been county people, I know. We are only bourgeoise, of course. I expect our ways will seem funny to you!”