And then Auntie Hamps came in, splendidly and yet soberly attired in black to face the world, with her upright, vigorous figure, her sparkling eye, and her admirable complexion; self-content, smiling hospitably; quite unconscious that she was dead, and that her era was dead, and that Hilda was not guiltless of the murder.
"This is nice of you, Hilda. It’s quite an honour." And then, archly: "I’m making jam."
"So I see," said Hilda, meaning that so she smelt. "I just looked in on the chance of seeing Maggie."
"Maggie went out about half-an-hour ago."
Auntie Hamps’s expression had grown mysterious. Hilda thought: "What’s she hiding from me?"
"Oh, well, it doesn’t matter," said she. "You’re going out too, Auntie."
"I do wish I’d known you were coming, dear. Will you stay and have a cup of tea?"
"But it will be a _pleasure_, dear," Auntie Hamps protested warmly.
"No, no! Thanks! I’ll just walk along with you a little of the way. Which direction are you going?"
Auntie Hamps hesitated, she was in a dilemma.
"What _is_ she hiding from me?" thought Hilda.
"The truth is," said Auntie Hamps, "I’m just popping over to Clara’s."
"Oh, do!" exclaimed Mrs. Hamps almost passionately. "Do! I’m sure Clara will be delighted!" She added in a casual tone: "Maggie’s there."
After Mrs. Hamps had peered into the grand copper pan and most particularly instructed the servant, they set off.
"I shan’t be easy in my mind until I get back," said Auntie Hamps. "Unless you look after them all the time they always forget to stir it."
When they turned in at the gate of the Benbows’ house the front-door was already open, and Clara, holding Rupert--her youngest--by the hand, stood smiling to receive them. Obviously they had been descried up the street from one of the bow-windows. This small fact, strengthening in Hilda’s mind the gradually-formed notion that the Benbows were always lying in wait and that their existence was a vast machination for getting the better of other people, enlivened her prejudice against her sister-in-law. Moreover Clara was in one of her best dresses, and her glance had a peculiar self-conscious expression, partly guilty and partly cunning. Nevertheless, the fair fragility of Clara’s face, with its wonderful skin, and her manner, at once girlish and maternal, of holding fast the child’s hand, reacted considerably against Hilda’s prejudice.