Ward, Mrs. Humphry, 1851-1920 / 2008-06-27 00:00:00

Anastasia and the baby were out.
Would Anastasia stay? Already she looked ill; she complained of her
chest. She had made up her mind to come with the Melroses for the sake of
her mother and sister in Rome, who were so miserably poor. Netta felt
that she--the mistress--had some security against losing her, in the mere
length and cost of the journey. To go home now, before the end of her
three months, would swallow up all the nurse had earned; for Edmund would
never contribute a farthing. Poor Anastasia! And yet Netta felt angrily
toward her for wishing to desert them.
"For of course I shall take her home--in March. We shall all be going
then," she said to herself with an emphasis, almost a passion, which yet
was full of misgiving.
Suddenly, just as she had returned by a steep path to the dilapidated
terrace on the north side of the house--a sound of horses' feet and
wheels. Evidently a carriage--a caller. Netta's pulse fluttered. She ran
into the house by a side door, and up to her room, where she smoothed
her hair anxiously, and lightly powdered her face. There was no time to
change her dress, but she took out a feather boa which she kept for great
occasions, and prepared to descend with dignity. Oh the stairs she met
Mrs. Dixon, who announced "Lady Tatham."
"Find Mr. Melrose, please."
"Oh, he's there, Ma'am, awready."
Netta entered the drawing-room to see her husband pacing up and-down
before a strange lady, who sat in one of the crimson armchairs, entirely
at her ease.
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