'Now look over the balustrade, and you will see them all in a minute,' said Mrs. Menlove. 'O, you need not be timid; you can look out as far as you like. We are all independent here; no slavery for us: it is not as it is in the country, where servants are considered to be of different blood and bone from their employers, and to have no eyes for anything but their work. Here they are coming.'
Picotee then had the pleasure of looking down upon a series of human crowns--some black, some white, some strangely built upon, some smooth and shining--descending the staircase in disordered column and great discomfort, their owners trying to talk, but breaking off in the midst of syllables to look to their footing. The young girl's eyes had not drooped over the handrail more than a few moments when she softly exclaimed, 'There she is, there she is! How lovely she looks, does she not?'
'Who?' said Mrs. Menlove.
Picotee recollected herself, and hastily drew in her impulses. 'My dear mistress,' she said blandly. 'That is she on Mr. Doncastle's arm. And look, who is that funny old man the elderly lady is helping downstairs?'
'He is our honoured guest, Lord Mountclere. Mrs. Doncastle will have him all through the dinner, and after that he will devote himself to Mrs. Petherwin, your "dear mistress." He keeps looking towards her now, and no doubt thinks it a nuisance that she is not with him. Well, it is useless to stay here. Come a little further--we'll follow them.' Menlove began to lead the way downstairs, but Picotee held back.
'Won't they see us?' she said.
'No. And if they do, it doesn't matter. Mrs. Doncastle would not object in the least to the daughter of her respected head man being accidentally seen in the hall.'
They descended to the bottom and stood in the hall. 'O, there's father!' whispered Picotee, with childlike gladness, as Chickerel became visible to her by the door. The butler nodded to his daughter, and became again engrossed in his duties.
'I wish I could see her--my mistress--again,' said Picotee.
'You seem mightily concerned about your mistress,' said Menlove.
'Do you want to see if you have dressed her properly?'
'Yes, partly; and I like her, too. She is very kind to me.'
'You will have a chance of seeing her soon. When the door is nicely open you can look in for a moment. I must leave you now for a few minutes, but I will come again.'
Menlove departed, and Picotee stood waiting. She wondered how Ethelberta was getting on, and whether she enjoyed herself as much as it seemed her duty to do in such a superbly hospitable place.
Picotee then turned her attention to the hall, every article of furniture therein appearing worthy of scrutiny to her unaccustomed eyes. Here she walked and looked about for a long time till an excellent opportunity offered itself of seeing how affairs progressed in the dining-room.
Through the partly-opened door there became visible a sideboard which first attracted her attention by its richness. It was, indeed, a noticeable example of modern art-workmanship, in being exceptionally large, with curious ebony mouldings at different stages; and, while the heavy cupboard doors at the bottom were enriched with inlays of paler wood, other panels were decorated with tiles, as if the massive composition had been erected on the spot as part of the solid building. However, it was on a space higher up that Picotee's eyes and thoughts were fixed. In the great mirror above the middle ledge she could see reflected the upper part of the dining-room, and this suggested to her that she might see Ethelberta and the other guests reflected in the same way by standing on a chair, which, quick as thought, she did.
To Picotee's dazed young vision her beautiful sister appeared as the chief figure of a glorious pleasure-parliament of both ***es, surrounded by whole regiments of candles grouped here and there about the room. She and her companions were seated before a large flowerbed, or small hanging garden, fixed at about the level of the elbow, the attention of all being concentrated rather upon the uninteresting margin of the bed, and upon each other, than on the beautiful natural objects growing in the middle, as it seemed to Picotee. In the ripple of conversation Ethelberta's clear voice could occasionally be heard, and her young sister could see that her eyes were bright, and her face beaming, as if divers social wants and looming penuriousness had never been within her experience. Mr.
Doncastle was quite absorbed in what she was saying. So was the queer old man whom Menlove had called Lord Mountclere.
'The dashing widow looks very well, does she not?' said a person at Picotee's elbow.
It was her conductor Menlove, now returned again, whom Picotee had quite forgotten.
'She will do some damage here to-night you will find,' continued Menlove. 'How long have you been with her?'
'O, a long time--I mean rather a short time,' stammered Picotee.
'I know her well enough. I was her maid once, or rather her mother-in-law's, but that was long before you knew her. I did not by any means find her so lovable as you seem to think her when I had to do with her at close quarters. An awful flirt--awful. Don't you find her so?'
'I don't know.'
'If you don't yet you will know. But come down from your perch--the dining-room door will not be open again for some time--and I will show you about the rooms upstairs. This is a larger house than Mrs.
Petherwin's, as you see. Just come and look at the drawing-rooms.'
Wishing much to get rid of Menlove, yet fearing to offend her, Picotee followed upstairs. Dinner was almost over by this time, and when they entered the front drawing-room a young man-servant and maid were there rekindling the lights.
'Now let's have a game of cat-and-mice,' said the maid-servant cheerily. 'There's plenty of time before they come up.'
'Agreed,' said Menlove promptly. 'You will play, will you not, Miss Chickerel?'
'No, indeed,' said Picotee, aghast.
'Never mind, then; you look on.'
