England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Families -- Fiction
But all this had no effect upon Hetty, the lookers-on thought. An
occasional faint smile came to the corners of her mouth, something so
faint, so evanescent, that it could scarcely be called a smile; a faint
little colour, almost imperceptible, came upon her marble paleness; now
and then she said, “Mamma!” quite inconsequently, not as an answer to
anything, and the tiny hands that had been folded in her lap were folded
now in one of her mother’s hands, which seemed to communicate a little
warmth, a little life--a poor result to have effected by the heroic
measure of sending for her, and admitting a stranger, against every
rule, to this secluded house. The housekeeper was very impatient of the
whole business. “You did it against everything I could say; and nothing
has come of it,” she said.
“As for that, we can’t tell yet,” said the doctor, naturally taking his
own part; but he was very anxious, and did not seem to have taken much
comfort from the new arrival. He had gone into the library to talk it
over with his coadjutor, while Hetty was being conveyed to bed. The
house was very quiet, the room badly lighted, the lamp on the table
bringing out the anxious expression on the young man’s troubled face,
and half showing the figure of the housekeeper, who stood on the other
side of the table. The light fell upon her hands clasped in front, and
showed her person vaguely, but her face was in the shade.
“The right thing to do would have been to send the girl off to that man
who treats hysteria,” she said; “he would soon have brought her to her
senses. What good can the mother do?--a silly woman telling all that
nonsense that the girl can’t hear, and would not care for if she did!
Rhoda likes it, to be sure,” she said, with a short laugh; “and perhaps
she thinks that to make an impression upon Rhoda, who will be an
heiress, is always worth her while.”
“It is no part of your business, or mine either, to judge Mrs. Asquith,”
young Darrell said impatiently; but there could be little doubt that he
was disappointed too. The effect of the mother’s first appearance had
not been what he hoped.
“And here we’ve brought in, against all our promises, just the last
person in the world that ought to be admitted into this house.”
“I made no promises,” said the young doctor hurriedly. “How could I on
this subject? No one could have foreseen such a combination of
circumstances--a near relation when we expected a stranger.”
“Only a cousin,” the housekeeper said quickly; “but now the thing is to
get rid of her as soon as possible, and in the meantime to keep her
completely in the---- Good gracious! I beg your pardon, ma’am,” cried
Mrs. Mills, quickly stepping out of the way.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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