This was done, and preparations were going on for
the arrival, when, at ten o'clock in the morning the young man suddenly
turned up, quite unexpectedly. Cousin Emmie, with her hair bobbed up in
absurd little bobs round her forehead, was busily polishing the
stair-rods, while Cousin Matilda was in the kitchen washing the
drawing-room ornaments in a lather, her sleeves rolled back on her thin
arms, and her head tied up oddly and coquettishly in a duster.
Cousin Matilda blushed deep with mortification when the self-possessed
young man walked in with his kit-bag, and put his cap on the sewing
machine. He was little and self-confident, with a curious neatness about
him that still suggested the Charity Institution. His face was brown, he
had a small moustache, he was vigorous enough in his smallness.
'_Well_, is it Hadrian!' exclaimed Cousin Matilda, wringing the lather
off her hand. 'We didn't expect you till tomorrow.'
'I got off Monday night,' said Hadrian, glancing round the room.
'Fancy!' said Cousin Matilda. Then, having dried her hands, she went
forward, held out her hand, and said:
'How are you?'
'Quite well, thank you,' said Hadrian.
'You're quite a man,' said Cousin Matilda.
Hadrian glanced at her. She did not look her best: so thin, so
large-nosed, with that pink-and-white checked duster tied round her head.
She felt her disadvantage. But she had had a good deal of suffering and
sorrow, she did not mind any more.
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