"
Kate gave a long sigh, and looked up relieved; and for some time she
and her aunt were not nearly so much at war as hitherto, but seemed
to be coming to a somewhat better understanding.
Yet it rather puzzled Kate. She seemed to herself to have got this
favour for crying for it; and it was a belief at home, not only that
nothing was got by crying, but that if by some strange chance it
were, it never came to good; and she began the more to fear some
disappointment about the expected Wardours.
For two or three days she was scanning every group on the sands with
all her might, in hopes of some likeness to Sylvia, but at last she
was taken by surprise: just as she was dressed, and Aunt Barbara was
waiting in the drawing-room for Aunt Jane, there came a knock at the
door, and "Mrs. Wardour" was announced.
In came a small, quiet-looking lady in mourning, and with her a girl
of about Kate's own age; there was some curtseying and greeting
between the two ladies, and her aunt said, "Here is my niece.--Come
and speak to Mrs. Wardour, my dear," and motioned her forwards.
Now to be motioned forwards by Aunt Barbara always made Kate shrink
back into herself, and the presence of a little girl before elders
likewise rendered her shy and bashful, so she came forth as if
intensely disgusted, put out her hand as if she were going to poke,
and muttered her favourite "--do" so awkwardly and coldly, that Lady
Barbara felt how proud and ungracious it looked, and to make up said,
"My niece has been very eager for your coming.
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