nice dog who wouldcome with me--dogs generally like me--but, oh, dear! that reminds me ofSolomon, he is _sure_ to be there; how shall I be able to keep out ofhis way? Dogs are so acute. What ill-fate made me get into thatunlucky compartment!"
Her reflections and misgivings, however, were brought to an end morequickly than she had expected. They had got over the four miles betweenthe railway station and Wyverston Hall with greater rapidity than shehad realised, and she almost started as they suddenly, or so it seemedto her, turned in at lodge gates, exchanging the hard high-road for thepleasant smoothness of a well-kept drive. It had grown much darker,too, for the avenue at Wyverston was bordered by massive trees of toosturdy growth to suffer much from the exposed situation. What manner oftrees they were, just now it was impossible to tell--only the faintfragrance of the falling leaves, and their rustle under the wheelspassing over them, told that autumn winds were already at work.
Sensitive to every natural influence, however trivial, Philippa peeredout into the dusk with a curious sense of enjoyment.
"There is something ever so much more romantic about it than about myarrival at Dorriford," she thought. "I really feel as if I were on thebrink of something tremendously interesting. I wonder what? I daresayit's all excitement! I have often had these presentiments before,without their leading to anything. Certainly the thought of tea in theservants'-hall, or possibly in the housekeeper's room--let me devoutlyhope it will be the latter--is enough to damp any attractiveanticipations," and suddenly there came over her a strong yearning to bewhere she was, in her own character--an instinctive revolt from theposition she had placed herself in, however praiseworthy the motive.And as she sat there in silence, these mingled sensations culminated ina vague fear, almost amounting to terror, of what might be before her,of the unknown risks to which she might be exposing herself by theextraordinary step she had taken--risks outside herself, in no wayconnected with the completeness or incompleteness with which she mightcarry out her part.
But want of courage was by no means a characteristic of the girl, andwith the practical good sense which contrasted curiously with the dashof recklessness in her temperament, she now told herself that, afterall, there was no real ground for these mental tremors.
"I am actually mistress of the situation," she thought. "It _does_depend upon myself, and I am not afraid of breaking down once I amreally started, for I have plenty of imagination. Rather too much, insome ways--if we had been arriving on a bright summer afternoon, withthe sun shining and no feeling of mystery and gloom, I should have beenquite in high spirits. After all, considering everything, I daresay itis safer for me to be rather depressed."
Very grave she was, very grave, indeed, as she stood behind MrsHeadfort in the hall a moment or two later. She was intensely eager tojudge of the nature of Evelyn's reception by her new relatives, but forthe present she had small opportunity for observing anything. No memberof the family was visible--only an irreproachable, grey-haired butlerwas informing her sister that the ladies were in the drawing-room, erehe turned to show her the way thither, and Evelyn, as she followed him,glanced back for an instant with a half-piteous, half-humorousexpression which made Philippa feel as if she must either laugh or cry--which, she could not have decided.
To neither inclination, of course, did she yield; she did not evenspeak, as, in her turn, she followed a younger man-servant who civillyoffered to show her the way to the housekeeper's room, a new questionpresenting itself to her mind at the words. What sort of person wouldthe housekeeper turn out to be? A great deal might hang upon this--everything almost, in fact; and as the vision of some housekeepers shehad seen, stout and self-satisfied, innately vulgar in their verycivility and obsequiousness to their superiors, rose before her mind'seye, again it came home to Miss Raynsworth that she had been far fromrealising what she was undertaking.
A door in the somewhat dimly-lighted passage was thrown open, and as thefootman stood aside to let her pass in, a pleasant, gentle voice met herears.
"Good-evening," it said, quietly; "you must have had rather a coldjourney. You have just arrived with Mrs Marmaduke Headfort, have younot? Take a seat by the fire," and as Philippa murmured her thanks andglanced round her at the neat, comfortable little room, Mrs Shepton,for such was her name, went on with increasing kindliness of tone, asshe saw that the girl seemed young, and suspected that she wastimid.--"It is long past tea-time, of course, but I have ordered alittle for you. I thought you would be glad of it."
"I shall be very glad of it, indeed," said Philippa, looking upgratefully, and speaking in the slow, careful way she had determined toadopt, and in the housekeeper's face she read nothing to modify thefirst instinct of confidence and satisfaction drawn forth by the tone ofher voice.
Mrs Shepton was an elderly woman, with a pleasant though somewhatcareworn face. She had "known trouble" in her time, and many details ofher sad, though by no means uncommon little history were confided toPhilippa's sympathising ears before her stay at Wyverston came to anend. And with some natures sorrow elevates as well as softens; thoughnot in any conventional sense superior to her class, the goodhousekeeper was one whom no true woman, of whatever position, need havehesitated to call a friend. And Philippa's instincts were quick andkeen.
"She is nice, and good, and kind," she decided at once. "It will makethe greatest possible difference to me to have to do with such a woman.I feel as if she were a superior sort of Dorcas."
The sweet expression on the girl's face went straight to Mrs Shepton'sheart.
"There's nothing like a cup of tea to refresh one after travelling," shesaid in her homely way--there were occasions on which the housekeepercould be correctly dignified and "stand-off" even to the most superiorof ladies' maids--but just now her one thought was to set this shy youngcreature at her ease. "You have come from Mrs Marmaduke's home, Isuppose?" she went on, as she handed the tea to Philippa. "I don'tremember rightly where it is, but it's at several hours' distance fromhere, I know."
"It is in ---shire, close to Marlby," Philippa replied. "We left thehouse about eleven o'clock this morning."
"Have you been long with your lady?" pursued Mrs Shepton. "You look soyoung. You couldn't have been out in India with her, surely?"
"Oh, no, I was scarcely grown-up then. I have only just entered MrsHeadfort's service, but," she added, after an instant's consideration,"she has known me a long time."
Mrs Shepton nodded, approvingly.
"Been in the young lady's Sunday-school class, I daresay," she thoughtto herself, and aloud she added, though without any suggestion ofinquisitiveness, "That is very nice; your mother must be pleased for younot to be with strangers, that is to say if--" for the seriousness ofthe girl's face, and her absolutely black attire, hinted at thepossibility of her having recently lost some near relation.
Philippa understood the hesitation and answered at once, speaking morequickly and brightly than hitherto.
"Oh, yes, I have a mother, and father too!"
"I am glad to hear it," rejoined Mrs Shepton, "but, by-the-by, mydear,"--the expression denoting that the new-comer had made amarvellously rapid stride in her good graces--"you've not yet told meyour name!"
For the first time, strange to say, it struck Philippa that this--hersurname, that is to say--was as yet an unknown quantity. She wasfortunately not one of those people who change colour on smallprovocation.
"Mrs Headfort calls me Phillis," she said, slowly.
The housekeeper looked rather surprised.
"Phillis," she repeated; "that is a first name. I suppose it's with herhaving known you so long; but it was your surname I meant. It wouldn'tdo for the servants here to call you by your first name. Of course in abig house like this we have to be very particular."
"Of course," said Philippa, rather coldly. Then recollectingherself--"My last name," she said, "is `Ray'--`Phillis Ray,'" and shesmiled slightly in spite of herself.
"Then `Miss Ray' you must be to every one here but mys
elf," said MrsShepton. "There are not so many visitors among us just now assometimes. There's only Mrs Worthing's maid--a very experiencedperson, much older than you; and Mr Gresham's valet, Mr Furze, a quietyoung man, and of course he's so often here with his master that he'sscarcely like a stranger. But when we are by ourselves as just now, mydear, I should like to call you Phillis; I had a sister once of thatname--long ago."
"Yes, please do," said Philippa, heartily.--"Mr Gresham, did you say,"she continued. "Is that a gentleman with a dog? I saw the name on someluggage at the station,