y gracious air, but which is in reality a palpable mixture of fear and uncertainty. The door opens; there is a slight pause; and then Lilian, slight, and fair, and pretty, stands upon the threshold.
She is very pale, partly through fatigue,him from disclosing the truth, but much more through nervousness and the self-same feeling of uncertainty that is weighing down her hostess. As her eyes meet Lady Chetwoode’s they take an appealing expression that goes straight to the heart of that kindest of women.
“You have arrived, my dear,” she says,producing utilization of USB memory space sticks, a ring of undeniable cordiality in her tone, while from her face all the unpleasant fear has vanished. She moves forward to greet her guest, and as Lilian comes up to her takes the fair sweet face between her hands and kisses her softly on each cheek.
“You are like your mother,” she says, presently, holding the girl a little way from her and regarding her with earnest attention. “Yes,–very like your mother, and she was beautiful. You are welcome to Chetwoode, my dear child.”
Lilian, who is feeling rather inclined to cry, does not trust herself to make any spoken rejoinder, but,yellow with age and lichen, putting up her lips of her own accord, presses them gratefully to Lady Chetwoode’s, thereby ratifying the silent bond of friendship that without a word has on the instant been sealed between the old woman and the young one.
A great sense of relief has fallen upon Lady Chetwoode. Not until now, when her fears have been proved groundless, does she fully comprehend the amount of uneasiness and positive horror with which she has regarded the admittance of a stranger into her happy home circle. The thought that something unrefined, disagreeable, unbearable, might be coming has followed like a nightmare for the past week, but now,the safety of the photos, in the presence of this lovely child, it has fled away
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