‘Mamma says she must have had a deplorable bringing-up with Lady Eliza.’
‘If she comes we must do what we can to polish her,’ rejoined Mary, who was inclined to take herself seriously; ‘no doubt there are a lot of little things we could show her—how to do her hair and things like that. I dare say she is not so bad.’
Agneta pursed up her lips and looked severe.
‘I think it is a great pity he did not choose Lady Maria. Of course, she is not at all pretty, but mamma says it is nonsense to think about such things. He has been very foolish.’
‘I really can hardly see this dull day,’ sighed Mary. ‘I wonder if I might pull up the blind ever so little. You see, mamma has made a pencil-mark on all the sashes to show the housemaids where the end of the blind is to come, and I am afraid to raise it.’
‘There is no sun,’ observed her sister; ‘I think you might do it.’
Mary rose from her frame, but, as she did so, a step was heard outside which sent her flying back to her place, and her mother entered.
Lady Fordyce was a short, stout woman, whose nose and forehead made one perpendicular outline without any depression between the brows. Her eyes were prominent and rather like marbles; in her youth she had been called handsome. She had married late in life, and was now well over sixty, and her neck had shortened with advancing years; her very tight brown silk body compressed a figure almost distressingly ample for her age.
She installed herself in a chair and bade her daughter continue practising.
‘I have practised an hour and my music is put away,’ said Agneta. ‘We were talking about Miss Raeburn. Will she come here, ma’am?’