It was the Tapleys, if Madeline had not heard the name wrong; who had already had tea with the Outstrippingtons, subject to the same reservation. But she may easily have got both names wrong. She thought she saw a chance of speaking with the niece by herself, and at any rate appointing a counter-visit before she went back to the Stakes, if she cut her own short before she became involved with the Tapleys, as might happen; and that would be fatal, she felt. So she suddenly perceived that she must not keep the greys standing in the cold, and got past the incoming Tapleys, who seemed to be in mourning for the human race, as far as clothes went; but not sorry at all, if you came to that. She had failed, and must give up the object of her visit, and acknowledge defeat. And, oh dear, how late it was!
She could, however, get a word or two with the niece before departing, unless that young woman consigned her to a servant and fled back to her Tapleys, who were shouting about how late they were, as if they had distinguished themselves. However, Mrs. Aiken had evidently no such intention, but, for some reason, very much the contrary.
The reason came out as soon as the door shut the shouters in, leaving her and her visitor in the passage, with a cap and a white apron hanging on their outskirts, ready for prompt action.
First Mrs. Aiken said, "I am afraid Aunt must have bored you dreadfully, Miss Upwell. She and her family! Oh dear!"
Madeline answered rather stiffly: "It was very interesting. I enjoyed listening." For she would have been better pleased with this young person if she had taken her Aunt's part. Her own mother prosed, copiously, about ancestors; but she herself never tried to silence her.
However, her displeasure melted when Mrs. Aiken—having told the cap it needn't wait; she would call—coloured and hesitated, and wanted to say something.
"Yes," said Madeline.
"I was—was so grieved—to see about your friend.... Oh dear!—perhaps I oughtn't to talk about it...."
Miss Upwell felt she had to be dignified. After all she and Jack were not engaged. "You mean Captain Calverley, Mrs. Aiken," said she. "We are hoping now—I mean his family are hoping—to hear from him every day. But, of course, they are—we all are—very anxious."
Mrs. Aiken looked dubiously at her visitor's face, seeming not to see the hand that was suggesting a good-bye shake. Then she said, very hesitatingly, "I—I didn't know—is there a hope? I only see the Telegraph." Then, an instant after, she saw her mistake. She might at least have had the sense to say nothing about the Telegraph.