“Thank you,” she said. “The fact is, my father (I can’t imagine why) wishes you to see my sister as well as me. He has written to the farmhouse at which she is now staying, to tell her to come home to-morrow. It is possible—if your kindness offers me an opportunity—that I may ask to be guided by your experience, in a little matter which interests me. My sister is rash, and reckless, and has a terrible temper. I should be very sorry indeed if you were induced to form an unfavorable opinion of me, from anything you might notice if you see us together. You understand me, I hope?”
“I quite understand you.”
To set me against her sister, in her own private interests—there, as I felt sure, was the motive under which she was acting. As hard as her mother, as selfish as her mother, and, judging from those two bad qualities, probably as cruel as her mother. That was how I understood Miss Helena Gracedieu, when our carriage drew up at her father’s house.
A middle-aged lady was on the doorstep, when we arrived, just ringing the bell. She looked round at us both; being evidently as complete a stranger to my fair companion as she was to me. When the servant opened the door, she said:
“Is Miss Jillgall at home?”
At the sound of that odd name, Miss Helena tossed her head disdainfully. She took no sort of notice of the stranger-lady who was at the door of her father’s house. This young person’s contempt for Miss Jillgall appeared to extend to Miss Jillgall’s friends.
In the meantime, the servant’s answer was: “Not at home.”
The middle aged lady said: “Do you expect her back soon?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I will call again, later in the day.”