When every one had gone, there was a little gathering in Mrs. Buxton's
dressing-room. Husband, son and niece, all came to give her their opinions
on the day and the visitors.
"Good Mrs. Browne is a little tiresome," said Mr. Buxton, yawning. "Living
in that moorland hole, I suppose. However, I think she has enjoyed her day;
and we'll ask her down now and then, for Browne's sake. Poor Browne! What a
good man he was!"
"I don't like that boy at all," said Frank. "I beg you'll not ask him again
while I'm at home: he is so selfish and self-important; and yet he's a bit
snobbish now and then. Mother! I know what you mean by that look. Well! if
I am self-important sometimes, I'm not a snob."
"Little Maggie is very nice," said Erminia. "What a pity she has not a new
frock! Was not she good about it, Frank, when she tore it?"
"Yes, she's a nice little thing enough, if she does not get all spirit
cowed out of her by that brother. I'm thankful that he is going to school."
When Mrs. Browne heard where Maggie had drank tea, she was offended. She
had only sat with Mrs. Buxton for an hour before dinner. If Mrs. Buxton
could bear the noise of children, she could not think why she shut herself
up in that room, and gave herself such airs. She supposed it was because
she was the granddaughter of Sir Henry Biddulph that she took upon herself
to have such whims, and not sit at the head of her table, or make tea for
her company in a civil decent way.
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