f
strangeness and aloofness, and a lump rose in her throat which rendered
the smile and any further speech on her part impossible; and as she
looked from the simpering, lackadaisical mother to the vulgar daughter
with meaningless smile, she asked herself whether she was really awake,
whether this room was indeed to be her future home, and these strange
people her daily companions, or whether she was only asleep and
dreaming, and would wake to find the honest face of Jessie bending over
her, and to see the familiar objects of her own room at Heron Hall.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

When Ida went upstairs for the wash, the need for which Miss Isabel had
so kindly informed her of, she found that her room was clean and fairly
comfortable, though its appearance seemed strange after the huge and
old-fashioned one at the Hall. The furniture was cheap and
unsubstantial, the towels were small and thin; in place of pictures,
aggressively illuminated texts scarred the walls like freshly made
wounds, and the place had a bare, homeless look which made Ida shudder.

The dining-room, when she went down to it, did not impress her any more
favourably; for here, too, the furniture was new and shiny with a
sticky kind of shininess, as if the treacly varnish had not yet dried;
there was not a comfortable chair in the room; the pictures were the
most gruesome ones of Dore's, and there was a text over the
mantel-piece as aggressive and as hideous in colouring as those in her
room. A lukewarm leg of mutton, very underdone, was on the table, the
cloth of which was by no means clean; the dishes, which contained quite
cold vegetables, were cracked and did not match; the bread was of the
commonest kind, that which is called "household;" the knives were badly
cleaned, and the plate was worn off the forks and spoons. It was
considered inelegant to have gas in the dining-room, therefore a cheap
paraffin-lamp was in the centre of the table, and was more liberal of
scent than light. The curtains to the window were of that annoying red
which shrieks down any other colour near it; they made Ida's tired eyes
ache.

While she was trying to eat the slice of gory mutton, Mrs. Heron and
Isabel watched her, as if she were some aboriginal from a wild and
distant country, and they shot glances at each other, uneasy,
half-jealous, half-envious glances, as they noted the beauty of the
face, and the grace of the figure in its black dress, which, plain as
it was, s