visitingacquaintance in Blissmore. I did not bring you to live in England tofall into a lower social position than is naturally ours. It was notfor that we left our dear old home at Bordeaux."
There was a slight catch in the mother's voice as she said the lastwords, that made both her daughters look at her anxiously.
"Mamma dear," whispered Stasy, "do you sometimes wish we _hadn't_ leftit?"
"I can't say, dear. I did it for the best, and we must be patientstill," she replied.
But when the sisters were alone, Stasy confided to Blanche that shethought "mamma" just a trifle prejudiced and narrow-minded.
"Si on n'a pas ce qu'on aime," she said in her half-laughing,half-grumbling way, "_il faut aimer ce qu'on a_. If we can't have grandfriends, much better content ourselves with common ones. We are not putinto the world to live alone: anything is better than dullness."
"I am not so sure of that," said Blanche.
The next day they went to call at Alderwood.
It was a real spring afternoon, and though the air had still a touch ofkeenness in it, it was full of the exhilaration which is the essentialcharm of the childhood of Nature's year. In spite of some anticipatoryshivers, Stasy persuaded her mother and Blanche to have the carriageopen, filling it with shawls and rugs, "in case _they_ should be cold,"though as regarded herself, she felt sure that would be impossible.
The first part of the road was familiar to them, as they had to go someconsiderable part of the way to Blissmore before reaching thecross-country route to Alderwood, which lay on the other side of thetown. But once they had turned in the Alderwood direction, a lovelyview was before them, and the girls burst into expressions of pleasure;while to their mother, every cottage, every milestone almost, recalledher happy youth.
"I am so glad to find I remember it all so well," she said. "It makesme feel more at home than I have done yet. Is it not really a charmingcountry? I wish we could have found a house near Alderwood."
"_I_ don't," whispered Stasy, with a private grimace for Blanche'sbenefit.
When they reached the lodge gates and were driving slowly up the avenue,Mrs Derwent became perfectly silent, and her daughters respected hermingled feelings. For Alderwood in the old days, as they knew, had beenalmost as much "home" to her as the pretty Fotherley vicarage.
The anticipation of an interview with Lady Harriot Dunstan was a safetonic against emotion or overmuch sentiment. And on the servant's replythat her ladyship was at home, it was with a perfectly calm anddignified demeanour that Mrs Derwent, followed by Blanche, got out ofthe fly and made her way up the stone steps and across the tiled hall tothe inner vestibule, whence opened the drawing-rooms and morning-room,all of which she knew so well. She felt as if in a dream: everyfootfall seemed to carry her back a quarter of a century. But for aglance at the grave face of the fair, beautiful girl beside her, shecould have fancied all the events of the intervening years to have beenimaginary, and herself again "Stasy Fenning," running in with somemessage from "papa" to her kindly godfather!
CHAPTER NINE.
AFTERNOON MEETINGS.
When the door was thrown open, and the butler's sonorous tonesannouncing Mrs and Miss Derwent made the occupants of the room turnround, and the short, stout figure of their hostess came waddlingtowards all illusion was dispelled, and with a little sigh Blanche'smother came back to the very different present.
Lady Harriot, whose manners, as I have indicated, were not exactly"grande dame," looked, and honestly was, a little perplexed.
"How de do?" she said, with as much civility as she was in the habit ofshowing to any but her immediate cronies, and turning to Blanche, "Howde do?"
Blanche happened at the moment to be standing in the full light, and asshe looked down in calm response to the little woman's greeting, evenobtuse Lady Harriot was struck by her incontestable beauty.
"She stood there like a picture," said one of the others present, whendescribing the momentary scene, and though the words were childish, theyexpressed the feeling.
Nevertheless, "the picture" was the first to take in the wholesituation.
"Mamma," she said quietly, "I scarcely think Lady Harriot Dunstanrecognises us."
"Oh yes, I do; at least I--I'm sure I've seen you before," began LadyHarriot, in a nearer approach to flutter than was usual with her. For,after all, she was "a lady born," as the poor folk express it, andconscious of the obligations of a hostess. "I'm sure I--"
"You were so good as to come to see us when we were staying temporarilyat Blissmore," said Mrs Derwent clearly. "I believe you did so at MrsLilford's request. And I should apologise for not having returned yourcall sooner, but till quite lately we have been in the agonies offurnishing and moving into our house."
A light broke over Lady Harriot's face, but with the illumination herslight diffidence disappeared. She relapsed into her stolid,self-satisfied self, and the change was not an improvement.
"Oh yes, I thought I'd seen you before," she said. "I've been away, butyou needn't have minded. I told the housekeeper after I saw you thatyou might be coming over to see the--"
"Aunt Harriot," said a masculine voice, suddenly breaking in at thisjuncture, "excuse me, but is there any reason why your friends and youshould be standing all this time? If you specially want to remain inthat part of the room, may I not at least bring some chairs forward?"
And then Blanche, lifting her eyes, saw that a man, a very young man heseemed to her at first sight, was standing not many paces off, behindLady Harriot, slightly hidden by some intervening furniture orupholstery.
He came forward as he spoke, thus entirely disengaging himself from alittle group--two or three women sitting, and another older man, who hadalso, of course, risen from his chair--at one end of the room, andBlanche's grave eyes scanned him with some interest.
It is sometimes--often--well that we are in ignorance of the unspokenthoughts of those about us, but it is sometimes to be regretted. A linkof sympathy would have been quickly forged between the girl and the manin this case, had she known the words which almost forced themselvesthrough his teeth.
"Those confounded pictures! Is Aunt Harriot an utter fool?" he said tohimself. "To speak to women like these as if they were her maid'scousins asking to see the house!"
Lady Harriot turned, and a smile--the first of its kind that theDerwents had seen--came over her face, mellowing its plain features witha pleasant glow, for her husbands nephew, Archie Dunstan, owned perhapsthe softest spot in her heart.
"Certainly," she said. "Won't you sit down, Mrs--Oh, I know,"triumphantly, "Mrs Fleming?" Irritating as it was, Blanche _could_ notrepress a smile; and the smile, like an electric spark, darted across toArchie Dunstan, and was reflected in his face. Mrs Derwent flushedslightly; she too was more than half inclined to laugh.
"No, Lady Harriot," she said, "I am sorry to contradict you, but in thisinstance you do not `know.' My name is Derwent. It used to be_Fenning_, in the old days when this house was almost home to me."
Mrs Derwent's intonation, as has before been mentioned, was remarkablydistinct. Her words penetrated to the group of ladies, and a slightrustle ensued. Then a very tall, thin, still wonderfully erect figurecame forward, both hands outstretched in welcome.
"Then are you Stasy?" said a tremulous, aged voice--"little AnastasiaFenning? And can this be your daughter? Dear me--dear me! Do youremember me? Aunt Grace--Sir Adam's cousin? I _am_ pleased to see youagain." And the very old lady stooped to kiss her long-ago young friendon the cheek.
"Aunt Grace!" repeated Mrs Derwent; "oh, I _am_ glad to see you;" andher eyes glistened with more than pleasure. It seemed the first realwelcome to her old home that she had received.
Lady Harriot stood by, trying to look amiable, but feeling rather bored.
"How very interesting!" she said. "You've met before, then. Isn't itnearly tea-time? Do sit down, Aunt Grace; you will be tired if youstand so long." But Mrs Selwyn would not sit down till she had drawnMrs
Derwent to a place beside her.
"Tell me all about yourselves," she said. "What a lovely daughter! Shemust know Hebe.--Hebe, my dear," and she turned to look for her.
But "Hebe has gone, Mrs Selwyn," said one or two voices, the older ofthe two men adding: "She is to be with us to-night, and Norman was tomeet her at the lodge, I think."
"Oh, I am sorry," said the old lady; and then seeing the puzzled look onMrs Derwent's face, she went on to explain. "Hebe Shetland is thegrand-daughter of one of my earliest friends. She is an orphan,