Day after day of the second week passed. No reply came from either “Miss L.” or “Miss F.” Presently Lucy noticed that she received a circular from a registry office, established in the country town from which Miss F. had issued her advertisement. She also discovered that both “Miss L.” and “Miss F.,” while apparently ignoring answers to their advertisements, were still repeating those advertisements. Also she found another advertisement word for word like “Miss L.’s,” but this time requesting that answers should be directed to “Miss N.” somewhere in the S.W. district.
“Surely things are not what they seem!” thought Lucy. She wrote again, but much less sanguinely this time, to the one or two advertisers, whose case seemed in the least likely to meet her requirements, and began to wonder whether her own advertisements would bring any applicants on the second Saturday.
But lo! on the Friday afternoon a prospect of relief opened up from a wholly unexpected quarter.
Miss Latimer had gone out to tea.
As Lucy and Hugh, on their return from the Institute and the Kindergarten turned hand in hand into Pelham Street, they saw a neat brougham standing in front of the little house with the verandah.
Lucy knew at once what guest this was. The Challoners had only one “carriage visitor,” and even she was not a “carriage person” in the strictest sense. For a month every year, generally the month of blossoming trees, picture galleries and distinguished strangers in London, Mrs. Bray hired a brougham. As for the rest of the year, for six months of it she never left her own house, for two months more she and Mr. Bray went to Bath or Buxton or Harrogate, and for the remaining three she limited herself to hobbling promenades in the Gardens near her home, where she could lean on the arm of her faithful Rachel, or indulge herself in the dissipation of a chair and a chairman.
In her “carriage month” the old lady put herself in step with the latest ideas in fashion, art, and science, picked up one or two new acquaintances to fill the gaps left by death among old friends, and punctiliously returned every call which she had received during the season of her seclusion or limitation.
“Here is Mrs. Bray come to see us, Hugh,” said Lucy. Whereupon the boy joyously echoed “Mrs. Bray!” and set off at a canter. Lucy hastened her steps after him. But as the child reached the little house with the verandah, he did not rush at the door, or even pull the bell, but turned aside to the brougham. It was evident that the object of interest was still in its interior. Yes, there she was, Mrs. Bray herself, throwing up her hands in delight on catching sight of Lucy.
“Oh, how fortunate that we should appear just as you arrived!” cried Lucy.
“I’ve been waiting ten minutes, my dear,” said the old lady. “Your servant would not let me in; she said ‘the missis was awful partic’ler, and she’d never had no words with her, except about lettin’ folks into the house too easy.’” (Jane’s accent and grammar did not lose in Mrs. Bray’s imitation.) “What harm she thought a poor limping, half-blind old dame is likely to do, I don’t know. But it is clear that you’re an awful dragon, my dear. I shouldn’t have thought it of you.”