A shadow floated across Kitty’s mind also at this moment. Was she, then, such a nonentity, such an entirely insignificant member of the Mangold family, that Doctor Bruck had not thought it worth while to mention having met her? She bit her lip, and silently followed the lady, who invited her into the house and opened a door in the large hall. Every movement of her slender figure was gentle and gracious.
"Here is my room,—my home for the rest of my life," she said, in a tone in which was plainly audible her satisfaction at having reached this harbour of refuge after years of weary wandering.
"Before my husband received the appointment of dean in the city, he had charge of a small country parish. Our means were not adequate, and all my economy in housekeeping was needed to maintain the dignity of his position; but it was the happiest time of my life. The dust and noise of the city were never good for my nerves; my longing for the quiet of woods and fields became almost morbid. I never spoke of it but the doctor privately made the purchase of this place with his savings, and showed it to me as my own a few hours afterwards." Her voice was husky with emotion as she spoke the last words. With what pride did she call her nephew "the doctor"! and as she spoke she smiled pleasantly. "Is it not a charming place,—quite a castle?" she asked. "See these folding-doors, and the graceful decoration of the ceilings. Those leather hangings, with their tarnished gold, must once have been very splendid; and out in the garden there are the remains of clipped yews and old statues of stone. The place was originally the dower-house, of one of the women of the Baumgarten family,—I learned that from an old chronicle. We have scrubbed and aired and warmed the rooms, but have altered nothing; we are not rich enough for that, and indeed there is no need of it."
Kitty was inspecting it all with silent satisfaction. The dark mahogany furniture suited the faded leather hangings admirably. Against the wall, not far from the large white glazed antique stove, stood a sofa covered with chintz, and above it hung the portrait of the late dean in his canonicals,—valuable, perhaps, as a likeness, but scarcely as a work of art. The plants at each of the high, broad windows decorated the room charmingly; there were various kinds of azaleas and palms, and magnificent india-rubber trees, just now tinged with gold by the sunshine that came broadly in through the net curtains. Gold-fish in a glass bowl, and a canary in a cage,—those favourites with lonely women,—were here also; and spring flowers, gay hyacinths, with here and there a white narcissus bending its fair head dreamily, were upon the window-sills, while the work-table was fairly embowered in laurel.