"I did not mean to hurt you, I am sure," said Kate eagerly. "Don't cry, Salome." For Salome had covered her face with her hands to hide her tears. "How stupid of me! Do forgive me," said Kate, really distressed.

"But I am always doing things of this kind--saying the wrong thing, or the right thing at the wrong time."

Salome made a great effort to recover herself, and soon was amused at Kate's lively description of the ways and doings at Edinburgh Crescent.

Kate could describe things well, and delighted in having a listener, especially one like Salome, who was sure not to break in with--"You told me that before;" or, "I have heard that story a hundred times."

But though Salome was amused, she was secretly surprised at Kate's free discussion of the faults and failings of her brothers and sisters.

Salome would never have dreamed of talking of Raymond's selfishness and arrogance to outside people, nor of Ada's serene contentment with herself, which was pa.s.sive rather than active, but was trying enough at times. Salome's loyalty in this respect is worth considering; for the inner circle of home ought to be sacred, and the veil should not be lifted to curious eyes to make public faults, and troubles which too often arise from those faults and darken with cold shadows the sky of home.

The boys did not return by four o'clock, and Salome, afraid that she should not be at Elm Fields in time to receive her mother, set out to walk there alone. Just as she was leaving the house, her aunt and Louise arrived in a carriage, and were saying good-bye to two ladies, who had evidently driven them back from the luncheon party.

As the little black figure glided past, Kate, who was standing in the hall, called out--

"Mamma! that is Salome. Mamma!--"

Mrs. Wilton took no notice of the exclamation; and Louise said, "Pray, do go back, Kate."

But Lady Monroe had turned her head, and was looking earnestly after Salome's retreating figure.

"Is not that Salome Wilton, Eva," she asked of her daughter,--"poor Mr.

Arthur Wilton's child? I should so much like to speak with her. I was at Maplestone last year.--Stop by that young lady," she said to the footman, as he closed the carriage-door--"the young lady in black."

"How very odd!" exclaimed Louise, as the carriage drove off. "Lady Monroe never said she knew the Maplestone people. Why, Salome is getting into the carriage. How absurd! Mamma, I do believe they will drive her home--next door to the baker's shop. Just fancy!"

"Do not stand on the pavement making such loud remarks, Louise," said Mrs. Wilton.

"I am glad," exclaimed Kate, "that Lady Monroe is so kind. And how could you and mamma cut Salome like that?"

"How should I know who she was?" said Louise sharply. "I did not go to Maplestone with you."

"Well, mamma _must_ have known her anyhow," said Kate. "She is the nicest girl I have seen for a long time. I shall make a friend of her, I can tell you."

CHAPTER VIII.

ARRIVALS.

"I shall be so glad to drive you home, my dear," Lady Monroe said, as Salome seated herself in the carriage. "I have the pleasure of knowing your mother; and Eva and I spent a very pleasant day at Maplestone last year, when I renewed an old acquaintance. How long have you been in Roxburgh? I wish Dr. Wilton had told me you were here."

"We only came the other day," Salome said; "indeed, mother and the children are not here yet. We expect them at five o'clock, and that is why I am so anxious to get back. We have lodgings at Elm Fields."

"You must direct us when we get nearer the place. Have you been spending the day at your uncle's?"

"Reginald and I met Kate and Digby on the down, and we went back to dinner. I have not seen Aunt Anna yet. Uncle Loftus came to see me."

Then fearing she might have left a wrong impression she added--

"Uncle Loftus is very kind to us."

"He is kind to everybody," said Eva Monroe earnestly. "He is the best doctor in the world--except for sending me to Cannes for the winter."

"He has done that for the best, Eva;" and Lady Monroe sighed. "It only shows how conscientious he is."

Salome was becoming nervous about the right turn to Elm Cottage; and her wrong glove began to worry her as she looked at Eva Monroe's slender fingers in their neatly-shaped four-b.u.t.ton black kid gloves.

"It is up there, I think," Salome said. "Yes; I know it is." Then, as the crimson rushed into her face, she said, "Elm Cottage is at the end of this road, next to a baker's shop."

"It is a pleasant, airy situation," Lady Monroe said. "You must tell your mother I shall call upon her very soon; and perhaps she will let me take her for a drive."

"Oh! it is near St. Luke's Church, mamma--Mr. Atherton's church. Why, it is the very house the Athertons lodged in till the vicarage was ready."

"So it is. You will find the Athertons pleasant neighbours," Lady Monroe said. "They will be nice friends for you, I hope; and the church is a very nice one. I daresay Mr. Atherton will be glad of your help in the Sunday school."

The carriage drew up as she was speaking, and the footman looked down from his seat doubtfully.

"Yes; this is right," said Lady Monroe. "Good-bye, my dear. I am so glad I met you."

"A sweet, gentle girl," Lady Monroe said, as Salome, having expressed her thanks, disappeared behind the little wooden gate. "It is very sad for them all. What a change from that lovely place, Maplestone Court, where I saw poor Emily Wilton last year!"

"Yes," said Eva; "to lose their father and money and position."

"Not position, Eva. A gentlewoman can never really lose position in the eyes of right-thinking people. I feel a great interest in the Wiltons; for their mother is, I should think, but little fitted to struggle with adversity; she was never strong."

"I wish we were not going to Cannes, mother, and then we could often go and see them. Oh! I do _not_ want to go away; my cough is quite well. It is so hard to go. Think how tired we were of the life there last year."

And a cloud of discontent came over the fair face of the delicately nurtured girl, who had all that loving care could suggest to brighten her life and soften the privations which delicate health brings with it to the young.

It must strike us all, old and young, when we look round upon the lives of others, that there is a crook in every lot, and that G.o.d will have us all learn the lesson of "patience,"--patience which can make the crooked places straight and the rough places smooth.

Salome found Stevens had set out tea on a little table in the dining-room. The tea-pot had a cosy over it; and a plate of thin bread and b.u.t.ter, cut from one of Ruth's fancy loaves, looked inviting.

"This is the mistress's time for afternoon tea," Stevens said. "She could not sit down to a table at this time, just off a journey too. I have got some buns for the children. Now, Miss Salome, do go and get yourself tidy, to look home-like. Where are the young gentlemen? Master Reginald went out with you."

"I expect they are both gone down to the station. Reg and I have been to dinner at Uncle Loftus's. Oh! here is the carriage. Here are mother and Ada!"

Salome went swiftly out to meet her mother and sister, and tried to greet them with a smile. "Mother," she exclaimed; "I am so glad you have come."

Mrs. Wilton made an effort to respond to Salome cheerfully; but Ada did not even try to smile.

"Now, then," said Dr. Wilton, "I must not stay. Reginald is walking up with the little boys and my Digby. The luggage will follow in the omnibus."

"Won't you have a cup of tea, Uncle Loftus?" said Salome. "We have it all ready."

"No, thanks, my dear, I cannot stay. I have a consultation at half-past five. Really you have made the best of this room; it looks quite pretty; and it is quiet here. I hope you will be comfortable."

While he was speaking, Mrs. Pryor appeared, with a courtesy so profound that Dr. Wilton had to hurry away to hide a smile.

"I hope I see you well, ma'am," said Mrs. Pryor; "and I hope, I am sure, you will mention anything I can do for you, and I will try in my poor way to do it. It's a world of trouble, ma'am, and you have had your share, as I have had mine; and I know how hard it must be for you, ma'am, in the evening of your days, to have a change like this--from riches to--"