"It isn't at all ghostly," said Rose, reassuringly."Will you be afraid if you have a night light?"Erica laughed at the idea of being afraid; she was merely amused to think of herself established in such a palatial bedroom, such a contrast to the little book-lined room at home.There was a dainty little book case here, however, with some beautifully bound books, and in another minute she was delightedly scanning their titles, and, with a joyous exclamation, had caught up Browning's "Christmas-eve and Easter-day," when a sound of dismay from her cousin made her laughingly put it down again.
"Oh, dear me!" said Rose, in a despairing voice, "I am afraid, after all, you are dreadfully blue.Fancy snatching up a Browning like that!"Erica began to unlock her trunk.
"Do you want your things out?" said Rose."I'll ring for Gemma;she'll unpack for you."
"Oh, thank you," said Erica, "I would much rather do it myself.""But it is nearly dinner time, we are dining early this evening, and you will want Gemma to help you to dress.""Oh, no," said Erica, laughing, "I never had a maid in my life.""How funny," said Rose, "I shouldn't know what to do without one.
Gemma does everything for me, at least everything that Elspeth will let her.""Is she Italian?" asked Erica.
"Oh, no, her name is really Jemima; but that was quite too dreadfully ugly, you know, and she is such a pretty girl."She chattered on while Erica unpacked and put on her white serge, then they went down to the drawing room where Erica was introduced to her host, a small elderly man, who looked as if the Indian sun had partially frizzled him.He received her kindly, but with a sort of ceremonious stiffness which made her feel less perfectly at her east than before, and after the usual remarks about the length of the journey, and the beauty of the weather, he relapsed into silence, surveying every one from his arm chair as though he were passing mental judgments on every foolish or trifling remark uttered.In reality, he was taking in every particular about Erica.He looked at her broad forehead, overshadowed by the thick smooth waves of short auburn hair, observed her golden-brown eyes which were just now as clear as amber; noted the creamy whiteness and delicate coloring of her complexion, which indeed defied criticism even the criticism of such a critical man as Mr.
Fane-Smith.The nose was perhaps a trifle too long, the chin too prominent, for ideal beauty, but greater regularity of feature could but have rendered less quaint, less powerful, and less attractive the strangely winsome face.It was only the mouth which he did not feel satisfied with it added character to the face, but he somehow felt that it betokened a nature not easily led, not so gentle and pliable as he could have wished.It shut so very firmly and the under lip was a little thinner and straighter than the other and receded a little from it, giving the impression that Erica had borne much suffering, and had exercised great self-restraint.
Mrs.Fane-Smith saw in her a sort of miniature and feminine edition of the Luke Raeburn whom she remembered eight-and-twenty years before in their Scottish home.When Rose had gone into the back drawing room to fetch her crewels, she drew Erica toward her, and kissing her again, said in a low, almost frightened voice:
"You are very like what your father was."But just at that moment Mr.Fane-Smith asked some sudden question, and his wife, starting and coloring, as though she had been detected in wrong-doing, hurriedly and nervously devoted herself to what seemed to Erica a distractingly round-about answer.By the time it was fairly ended, dinner was announced, and the strangeness of the atmosphere of this new home struck more and more upon Erica and chilled her a little.The massive grandeur of the old oak furniture, the huge oil paintings, which she wanted really to study, the great silver candelabra, even the two footmen and the solemn old butler seemed to oppress her.The luxury was almost burdensome.It was a treat indeed to see and use beautiful glass and china, and pleasant to have beautiful fruit and flowers to look at, but Erica was a bohemian and hated stiff ceremony Her heart failed her when she thought of sitting down night after night to such an interminable meal.Worse still, she had taken a dislike to her host.Her likes and dislikes were always characterized by Highland intensity, and something in her aunt's husband seemed to rub her the wrong way.Mr.Fane-Smith was a retired Indian judge, a man much respected in the religious world, and in his way a really good man; but undoubtedly his sympathies were narrow and his creed hard.Closely intwined with much true and active Christianity, he had allowed to spring up a choking overgrowth of hard criticism, of intolerance, of domineering dogmatism.He was one of those men who go about the world, trying, not to find points of union with all men, but ferreting out the most trifling points of divergence.He did this with the best intentions, no doubt, but as Erica's whole view of life, and of Christian life in particular, was the direct opposite of his, their natures inevitably jarred.
She knew that it was foolish to expect every Christian household to be equal to the Osmonds', but nevertheless a bitter sense of disappointment stole over her that evening.Where was the sense of restful unity which she had looked forward to? The new atmosphere felt strange, the new order of life this luxurious easy life was hard to comprehend.
