Victoria believed that she had grasped the whole
situation with regard to Threlfall. She was quite aware, it seemed, of
the magnitude of her father's wealth; of all that hung upon her own
chances of inheritance; and of the value, to her cause and her mother's,
of the support of Duddon. Her likeness to her father came out hour by
hour, and there were moments when the tiny creature carried herself like
a Melrose in miniature.
Victoria's advent was awaited at Green Cottage, she having telephoned to
Mrs. Penfold in the morning, with something of a flutter. Her visits
there had not been frequent; and this was the first time she had called
since Tatham's proposal to Lydia. That event had never been avowed by
Lydia, as we have seen, even to her mother; Lydia and Victoria had never
exchanged a word on the subject. But Lydia was aware of the shrewd
guessing of her family, and she did not suppose for one moment that Lady
Tatham was ignorant of anything that had happened.
Mrs. Penfold, scarcely kept in order by Susy, was in much agitation. She
felt terribly guilty. Lady Tatham must think them all monsters of
ingratitude, and she wondered how she could be so kind as to come and see
them at all. She became at last so incoherent and tearful that Lydia
prepared for the worst, while Susy, the professed psychologist, revelled
in the prospect of new "notes."
But when Victoria arrived, entering the cottage drawing-room with her
fine mannish face, her stately bearing, and her shabby clothes, the news
she brought seized at once on Mrs.
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