d.

The two windows looked out over the park, and thence it was that while
Morris, the maid, was unpacking and putting away the new purchases, and
Nuttie was standing, scarcely realising that such pretty hats and
bonnets could be her very own, when her mother beheld the Canon and
Mark advancing up the drive. It was with a great start that she called
Ursula to come down directly with her, as no one would know where to
find them, hastily washing the hands that had picked up a sense of
dustiness during the exploration, and taking a comprehensive glance in
the cheval glass, which showed her some one she felt entirely
unfamiliar to her in a dainty summer costume of pale gray silk picked
out with a mysterious shade of pink. Ursula too thought Miss
Egremont's outer woman more like a Chelsea shepherdess than Nuttie's
true self, as she tripped along in her buckled shoes and the sea green
stockings that had been sent home with her skirt. With crimson cheeks
and a throbbing heart, Alice was only just at the foot of the stairs
when the newcomers had made their way in, and the kind Canon, ignoring
all that was past, held out his hands saying, 'Well, my dear, I am glad
to see you here,' kissing Mrs. Egremont on each cheek. 'And so this is
your daughter. How do you do, my dear--Ursula? Isn't that your name?'
And Ursula had again to submit to a kiss, much more savoury and kindly
than her father's, though very stubbly. And oh! her uncle's dress was
like that of no one she had ever seen except the rector of the old
church, the object of unlimited contempt to the adherents of St.
Ambrose's.

As to Mark, he only kissed his aunt, and shook hands with her, while
his father ran on with an unusual loquacity that was a proof of
nervousness in him.

'Mrs. Egremont--Jane, I mean--will be here after luncheon. She thought
you would like to get settled in first. How is Alwyn? Is he down yet?'

'I will see,' in a trembling voice.

'Oh no, never mind, Alwyn hates to be disturbed till he has made
himself up in the morning. My call is on you, you know. Where are you
sitting?'

'I don't quite know. In the drawing-room, I suppose.'

The Canon, knowing the house much better than she did, opened a door
into a third drawing-room she had not yet seen, a pretty little room,
fitted up with fluted silk, like a tent, somewhat faded but not much
the worse for that, and opening into a conservatory, which seemed to
have little in it but some ve