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Moreover, food at Mannering was much more plentiful than food in town especially since the advent of Elizabeth Bremerton. It was of Elizabeth that Mrs. Gaddesden was thinking as she sat alone in the hall. From her seat she could perceive a shrubbery walk in the garden outside, along which two figures were pacing Miss Bremerton and the new agent.
Anderson murmured something inaudible, and the young man departed. A little later Anderson and Elizabeth were seated together in the Red Drawing Room. Mrs. Gaddesden, after a little perfunctory conversation with the new-comer, had disappeared on the plea of letters to write. The girl in white, the centre of a large party in the hall, was flirting to her heart's content.
Gaddesden alone was left sitting by the fire in the hall. There was a cold wind, and she did not feel equal to facing it.
'Hadn't you better take your things off? said Mrs. Gaddesden. Elizabeth rose. As she passed the Squire, he said gruffly: 'Of course you're not ready for any Greek before dinner? She smiled. 'But of course I am. I'll be down directly. In a few more minutes she was standing alone in her room. The housemaid, of her own accord, had lit a fire, and had gathered some snowdrops for the dressing table.
The warm, maternal temper which went with her shrewd brain seemed to need perpetually objects on which to spend itself. She could have loved the twins dearly had they let her, and day by day, in the absence of the mother, she had been accustomed to nurse, she had even positively enjoyed 'petting' Mrs. Gaddesden, holding her wool for her, seeing to her hot-water bottles, and her breakfast in bed.
A fresh-coloured man with grizzled hair led the van. "Well, Mrs. Gaddesden, here we all are. Philip has given us a capital day!"
Her chilliness, her small self-indulgences, including an inordinate love of cakes and all sweet things, were the standing joke of the twins when they discussed the family freely behind the closed doors of the 'Den. But no one disliked Alice Gaddesden, though it was hard to be actively fond of her.
"Elizabeth can't speak worth a cent!" said Philip, with brotherly candour. "Can you, Lisa?" "I don't believe it," said Lord Waynflete, "but it don't matter. All they want is that a Gaddesden should say something. Ah, Mrs. Gaddesden how glorious the Romney looks to-night!" He turned to the fireplace, admiring the illuminated picture, his hands on his sides. "Is it an ancestress?"
Bettany was a small man, with thin harrassed features and a fragment of beard, glib of speech towards everybody but Yerkes. "Your conductor got some milk, I think, from that cabin." "He did but only enough for ourselves. Sorry we can't oblige you." "All the same, I am going to beg some of it. May I speak to the gentleman?" "Mr. Gaddesden, sir, is dressing. The steward will attend to you."
Elizabeth thought of the boy who had gone out from that door, two months before, in the charm and beauty of his young manhood. What wreck was it they were bringing back? Then the remembrance stabbed her of that curt note from France of what Mrs. Gaddesden had said. She withdrew into the background. With all the rest to help, she would not be wanted. Yes, she had been too masterful, too prominent.
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