Again she lightly
sighed, and presently resumed her downward gazing at the fire.
Knuckles quavered at the door. She straightened herself, turned, and
called out definitely, "Come in." Mrs. Benson stood before her, vast,
massive, black-gowned, cloudy for trouble, a cook.
There was instantly to be observed in Miss Percival's lifted head and eyes
the same frank appeal for interchange of sentiments as had been manifested
to Minnie the maid. Her brows were smoothed out, her smile became less
dubious; her intention to be friendly was deliberately expressed. But
truth will have it that, just as before, Mrs. Benson's guard turned out at
the same moment, as at a signal. To vary the figure, her vedettes, in
touch with the advancers, fell back upon the main body.
If the young lady perceived this she did not cease to be amiably disposed.
"Oh, Mrs. Benson," she said, "I've had a telegram."
Mrs. Benson, with strict non-committal, lifted her eyebrows to "Well,
well!" It was as if she implied that such things were to be expected in a
world full of trouble. "So I hear, Miss Percival," she grimly said.
"It's from Mr. Ingram, you know."
"Ah, well--" Mrs. Benson could have been heard to sigh; but among the many
things which Miss Percival chose to ignore, this sort of thing was one.
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