Lady Dauntrey now began to ascend the steps, and the coachman, anxious
to get home, alertly dismounted the two pieces of baggage. He brought
the small trunk and big dressing-bag up to the door, plumping them down
on the marble floor of the terrace so noisily that the dog again
convulsed itself with rage. The price the man asked was paid without
haggling; he and Lord Dauntrey between them dragged Mary's possessions
into the vestibule, and the door was shut. As the girl heard the sounds
of hoofs trotting gayly away, she would have given much to call after
the driver, to spring into the carriage and let herself be taken
anywhere, if only she need not stay with the Dauntreys and the yapping
dog in this desolate house, which was a dead man's gift to her.
Her spirits faintly revived when the lamplight had shown her the richly
coloured dark face of the woman with the dog. It was a young face,
though too full and heavy chinned to be girlish: and from under an
untidy crown of black hair two great yellow-brown eyes, faithful and
lustrous as a spaniel's, gazed with eager curiosity at the Signorina. If
the caretaker of the Chateau Lontana had been old and forbidding Mary's
cup of misery would have overflowed, but the pleased smile of this
red-lipped, full-bosomed, healthy creature gave light and warmth to the
house.
"Welcome, Signorina," she said in the guttural Italian of one accustomed
to a _patois_. "It has been very lonely here since the poor Captain
ceased to come.
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