Flaming June | Page 7

a pretty, dowdy
girl, at whom a passer-by would hardly cast a second glance. She
looked bored too, and a trifle discontented, and her voice had a flat,
uninterested tone.
"Well, mother, back again! Have you enjoyed your call?"
"Thank you, dear, it was hardly a case of enjoyment. I was invited to
give my opinion of a matter of importance."
"Yes, I know!--Should she have the sweep this week, or the week after
next?--Should she have new covers for the drawing-room?--Would you
advise slate-grey, or grey-slate for the new dress? ... I hope you brought
the weight of your intellect to bear on the great problems, and solved
them to your mutual satisfaction!"
Mrs Ramsden seated herself on a deeply-cushioned arm-chair, and
began pulling off her tight kid gloves. A touch of offence was visible in

her demeanour, and the feather in the front of her bonnet reared itself at
an aggressive angle.
"It is not in good taste, my dear, to talk in that tone to your mother.
Matters of domestic interest may not appeal to you in your present
irresponsible position, but they are not without their own importance.
The subject of to-day's discussion, however, was something quite
different. You will be interested to hear that Miss Briskett is expecting
a young American niece to pay her a visit at an early date."
"How young?" inquired Elma, tentatively. Her mother had a habit of
alluding to "girls" of thirty-five, which did not commend itself to her
youthful judgment. She reserved her interest until assured on this
important point.
"About your own age or slightly younger. The only daughter of Mr
Edward Briskett, the head of the family. His business takes him away
from home for several months, and his daughter is anxious to avail
herself of the opportunity of visiting her aunt."
"Oh!" said Elma; no more and no less, but as she turned her pansy-like
eyes once more to the window, she grimaced expressively. She was
sorry for the delusion of the American daughter who was willing to
cross a whole ocean for the privilege of beholding Miss Sophia
Briskett!
"What is she like?" she asked presently. "Did you hear anything about
her?"
Mrs Ramsden shook her head dolefully.
"I fear, dear--strictly between ourselves--that she is not precisely what
we should call a nice girl! The tone of her letter was decidedly flippant.
Miss Briskett is hoping much from your influence. You two girls will
naturally come a good deal into contact, and I hope you will do your
utmost to set her an example of ladylike demeanour."
Elma stared steadily through the window. "Flippant" she repeated to

herself in a breathless whisper. "Flippant!" The pansy eyes widened.
She heaved a sigh of deep, incredulous delight.
CHAPTER THREE.
The Lucania was due to arrive in the Mersey early on a Tuesday
forenoon, and Miss Briskett expected to welcome her niece on the
evening of the same day. The best spare room was already swept and
garnished, and nothing remained but to take counsel with Heap the
cook, and draw out a menu of a dinner which could most successfully
combat the strain of waiting. The spinster's own appetite, though sparse,
was fastidious, and Heap was a mistress of her art, so that between the
two a dainty little meal was arranged, while Mason, not to be outdone,
endeavoured to impart an extra polish to her already highly-burnished
silver. In the seclusion of the pantry she hummed a joyful air. "Praise
the pigs! we shall have something young in the house, at last," said she
to herself. "I don't mind the extra work, if she'll only make a bit of a
stir!"
By six o'clock the dinner-table was laid, and Miss Briskett was sitting
in state, clad in her newest grey silk gown, though a reference to
Bradshaw made it seem improbable that the traveller could arrive
before seven o'clock. At half-past six hot water was carried up to the
bedroom; ten minutes later Miss Briskett left her seat to move another
few yards nearer the window. Streaks of colour showed in her cheeks,
her fingers clasped and unclasped in nervous fashion. She was
conscious of a quick thud-thud at the left side of the thickly-boned
bodice, and realised with surprise that it came from that almost
forgotten organ, her heart. She had never experienced this agitation
before when awaiting the arrival of her own friends. The old adage was
right after all--blood was thicker than water! What would the child be
like? Edward was a big fair man, with no special beauty of feature.
Sybil had been slight and dainty. It did not seem likely that Cornelia
would be specially pretty, her aunt prayed above all things that she was
unnoticeable--to be unnoticeable was regarded as the climax