As she descended from the carriage the girl was tremulous and uncertain of herself and much overpowered by the unbending air of the man-servant who received her as if she were a parcel in which it was no part of his duty to take the smallest interest.As she mounted the stone steps she caught a glimpse of broad gloom within the threshold, a big, square, dingy hall where some other servants were drawn up in a row.She had read of something of the sort in English novels, and she was suddenly embarrassed afresh by her realisation of the fact that she did not know what to do and that if she made a mistake Nigel would never forgive her.
An elderly woman came out of a room opening into the hall.She was an ugly woman of a rigid carriage, which, with the obvious intention of being severely majestic, was only antagonistic.She had a flaccid chin, and was curiously like Nigel.She had also his expression when he intended to be disagreeable.She was the Dowager Lady Anstruthers, and being an entirely revolting old person at her best, she objected extremely to the transatlantic bride who had made her a dowager, though she was determinedly prepared to profit by any practical benefit likely to accrue.
"Well, Nigel," she said in a deep voice."Here you are at last."This was of course a statement not to be refuted.She held out a leathern cheek, and as Sir Nigel also presented his, their caress of greeting was a singular and not effusive one.
"Is this your wife?" she asked, giving Rosalie a bony hand.
And as he did not indignantly deny this to be the fact, she added, "How do you do?"Rosalie murmured a reply and tried to control herself by making another effort to swallow the lump in her throat.
But she could not swallow it.She had been keeping a desperate hold on herself too long.The bewildered misery of her awakening, the awkwardness of the public row at the station, the sulks which had filled the carriage to repletion through all the long drive, and finally the jangling bells which had so recalled that last joyous day at home--at home--had brought her to a point where this meeting between mother and son--these two stony, unpleasant creatures exchanging a reluctant rub of uninviting cheeks--as two savages might have rubbed noses--proved the finishing impetus to hysteria.They were so hideous, these two, and so ghastly comic and fantastic in their unresponsive glumness, that the poor girl lost all hold upon herself and broke into a trembling shriek of laughter.
"Oh!" she gasped in terror at what she felt to be her indecent madness."Oh! how--how----" And then seeing Nigel's furious start, his mother's glare and all the servants'
alarmed stare at her, she rushed staggering to the only creature she felt she knew--her maid Hannah, clutched her and broke down into wild sobbing.
"Oh, take me away!" she cried."Oh, do! Oh, do! Oh, Hannah!
Oh, mother--mother!"
"Take your mistress to her room," commanded Sir Nigel.
"Go downstairs," he called out to the servants."Take her upstairs at once and throw water in her face," to the excited Hannah.
And as the new Lady Anstruthers was half led, half dragged, in humiliated hysteric disorder up the staircase, he took his mother by the elbow, marched her into the nearest room and shut the door.There they stood and stared at each other, breathing quick, enraged breaths and looking particularly alike with their heavy-featured, thick-skinned, infuriated faces.
It was the Dowager who spoke first, and her whole voice and manner expressed all she intended that they should, all the derision, dislike and scathing resignment to a grotesque fate.
"Well," said her ladyship."So THIS is what you have brought home from America!"