So she went on thinking of Leonora West as a little girl who would be a great deal of trouble to her, and on whom she would have to spend the savings of long years; and, although she felt that she had a formidable task before her in the rearing of this orphan girl, she did not shrink from the undertaking, but made up her mind to go forward bravely in the fulfillment of the precious charge left to her by the dead.
So the day drew near for Leonora's arrival, and the great house was now filled with guests—twenty in all—whom Lady Lancaster had bidden to the feast, prepared in honor of her nephew, the Lord of Lancaster.
So the day was come at last, and Lady Lancaster in the drawing-room awaited her nephew, while the housekeeper in the kitchen awaited her niece.
It was one of the most beautiful of June days. The air was sweet and warm, the sky was clear and blue, all nature seemed to smile on the home-coming of the master.
Mrs. West, having given her orders in the kitchen, repaired to her own special sitting-room, a small apartment on the second floor, with a sunny window looking out upon the rear grounds of the house. She had put a bouquet of roses in a vase on the mantel, and some small pots of simple, sweet-smelling flowers on the window-sill, to brighten up the place for the child's eyes.
"It will look so cheerful. Children always love flowers," she said.
She pulled forward a pretty little child's rocking-chair that she had brought down from the immense garret. She arranged a pretty little red-and-white tidy over the back.
"In a little while they will be here, for John went to meet them with the carriage a good while ago," she said to herself. "Dear me, how nervous I am getting over that child's coming."
And she settled her lace cap again and looked into the small mirror against the wall, wondering how Dick's child would like her aunt's looks.
"Dear me, Mrs. West, I did not think you were so vain," said a laughing masculine voice.
She turned around quickly.
"Oh, my lord, so you're come home again!" she cried; "and as full of your mischief as ever. Welcome, welcome!"
"Yes, I am home again, Mrs. West, and here is what I have brought you," he said, stepping back that she might see the girl who had followed him into the room—the graceful figure in deep black, that came up to her with both hands outstretched, and said, demurely:
"How do you do, Aunt West?"
For a minute Mrs. West did not touch the pretty white hands held out to her, she was so amazed and surprised. She managed to stammer out faintly:
"Are you Leonora West? I—I was expecting to see a very young child."
The bright face dimpled charmingly.
"That was a mistake," she said. "I hope you will not be vexed because I am so large!"
CHAPTER XVII
"But," said Mrs. West, in perplexity, "the letter said a little girl."
"Yes, I know," said Leonora. "Poor papa always called me his little girl, and if he had lived until I was an old woman it would have been the same. And he forgot that you could not possibly know how old I was. I'm sorry you are disappointed, Aunt West, but I am eighteen years old. You see, papa was married one year after he went to America—and—"
Just here Captain Lancaster interposed:
"Aren't you going to kiss your niece, Mrs. West?"
"Oh, dear me, yes; I was so surprised, I quite forgot!" cried the good woman. She went up to Leonora, put her arms around the graceful figure, and kissed the round cheek.
"Welcome to England, my dear child," she said. "I shall love you dearly, I am sure. Sit down, do, in this chair, while I take your things."
And in her flurry she pushed forward the small rocking-chair with elaborate courtesy, whereat Leonora laughed good-naturedly.
"Either the chair is too small, or I am too big," she said; "I am afraid to trust myself upon it." She went and sat down on a pretty old-fashioned sofa. Then she glanced around and saw that Captain Lancaster had gone.
"Are you disappointed because I am not a little girl, Aunt West?" she inquired, as she removed her hat and smoothed her rough tresses with her small, white hands.
"I—I don't know—yet," said the good woman; "I am so flustered by the surprise, and—and—I wonder what Lady Lancaster will say?"
"What has Lady Lancaster to do with me?" demanded Miss West, in her pretty, abrupt way, fixing her large eyes wonderingly on her aunt's face.
"Oh, nothing!" answered Mrs. West, rather vaguely.
"I should think not, indeed," said Leonora, in a very decided tone.
"Are you tired, my dear? Should you like to go to your room and rest?" inquired the housekeeper, changing the subject.
"No, I am not tired, thank you, aunt; but I will go to my room if you please," Leonora answered. There was a little disappointment in her tone. The young face looked sober.
"This way, then, my dear," said Mrs. West. She led the girl through her own neat bedroom, into a prettier one, small, but furnished with a white bed, a blue carpet, and some blue chairs—these latter also the spoils of the garret, but looking very well after the furbishing Mrs. West had given them.
Leonora cast a rapid, comprehensive glance around her, then went over to the ewer and bathed her face and hands.
"I hope your room suits you, Leonora," said Mrs. West, lingering, and half-abashed. Something about the fair, self-possessed girl seemed to vaguely suggest better things. Beside her grace and beauty the room looked poor and mean.
"Oh, yes, thank you, aunt," Leonora returned, quietly. She had taken her combs and brushes out of her dressing-bag now, and Mrs. West saw that they were an expensive set, pearl and silver-backed, as elegant as Lady Lancaster's own.
"My dear, could your papa afford handsome things like these?" she said.
Leonora flushed rose red.
"Not always," she said. "But he was very extravagant whenever he had money. He made a great pet of me, and sometimes—when he had good luck—he bought the loveliest things for me. Perhaps, if he had taken more care of his money, you need not have been burdened with the care of his orphan daughter now."
There was a dejected tone in her voice that went straight to the housekeeper's womanly heart.
"Oh, you poor fatherless child!" she cried. "Do you think I could mind dividing my savings with Dick West's child? He was a bonny lad, was Dick! I always loved him, although he was no real kin to me, and only my husband's brother."
Leonora's eyes shone very bright now through the tears that filled them.
"Oh, Aunt West, you will love me too a little, then—for poor papa's sake!" she cried, and Mrs. West answered, with sudden warmth and tenderness:
"Indeed I will, dear. You shall be like my own daughter to me."
A moment later she added, ruefully:
"I'm sorry I could not have a nicer room for you, Leonora. But, you see, I thought this would do very well for a child."
"Oh, indeed, it does not matter in the least. I shall not stay in it much. I shall be out-of-doors nearly all the time."
CHAPTER XVIII
Leonora spoke in such a composed, matter-of-fact tone that she was surprised at its effect upon her aunt.
The good lady uttered an exclamation almost amounting to terror, and stood regarding her niece with such a rueful and amazed face that the girl burst into a peal of sweet, high-pitched laughter.
"Oh, my dear aunt," she cried, as she vigorously brushed out her thick plaits of hair into loose, shining ripples over her shoulders, "what have I said to shock you so?"
"I'm not shocked, my dear," said the good soul, recovering herself, with a gasp. "What put such an idea in your head? But what did you say, child," anxiously, "about being out all day?"
"I said it didn't matter about the room, as I didn't expect to stay in it much. I love fresh air, Aunt West, and I shall be out-doors nearly all the time."
"I'm afraid that won't do here, my love," suggested the housekeeper, timidly.