On the day after her arrival Lady Avalon came, with her daughter, but still there was no word from Harry.
They came in time for tea, and the two older ladies retired to talk together afterwards. Mrs. Brent was left to entertain the girl. In the few minutes' conversation Sidney had with her mother before dinner she told her that unless she gained some relief from that companionship she really couldn't stay at Royd. "She's a perfectly appalling woman, mother," she said. "How on earth she can have had a son like Harry, if he's anything like he used to be as a child, I can't understand."
"I don't think she's so bad as all that, dear," said Lady Avalon. "From what Lady Brent tells me, she's been running with the people she comes from, and of course they can't be much. That's admitted, though I don't know anything about them. She seemed a quiet enough little thing when I was here last. She'll settle down again."
"I hope she will. But it's a poor lookout for me if I've got to make a bosom friend of her, while you and Lady Brent are putting your heads together. Really, darling, I don't think I can stand it."
"Harry may be home any day, and until he does come we can spend most of our time at Poldaven, though of course we mustn't just make a convenience of being here. The Vicarage people are dining to-night, so you won't have her on your hands entirely. The Vicar is David Grant, the novelist. I haven't read any of his novels, but I believe a lot of people do. I expect he's a clever man, and will cheer us up a bit."
"I should think we shall have quite an hilarious evening--you and Lady Brent talking together, and me and Mrs. Brent and the Vicarage people."
"I thought you rather liked Vicarage people. Don't make yourself superior to your company, there's a good girl. It's the worst sort of form--especially in the country."
Whatever the allusion to Vicarage people may have meant, it sent Sidney out of the room with a blush on her cheeks, and Lady Avalon rang for her maid with a look on her face as of one who had been rather clever.
Sidney had grown into a pretty girl, though she was considered the ugly duckling of the handsome family to which she belonged. She was tall, and had not yet quite grown out of the youthful awkwardness of her stature. But there was more character in her well-shaped features than her sisters could boast of, though their widely known beauty had descended upon them in early childhood and suffered no relapse through the years of their growth. They inherited their good looks from both sides of the family, but Sidney was the only one of the girls who derived more from her father. Perhaps on that account she was his favourite, and he was accustomed to prophesy that she would beat them all in looks when she really grew up. She had kind eyes and a smiling mouth, to which her decisively jutting chin gave character. Her skin was very fair and clear, and her abundant brown hair had just a touch of auburn in it. There were some to whom the hint of gaucherie in her carriage gave her an added charm. It spoke of health and youth and vigour, and went well with her free unafraid speech and her frequent smile.
