Imogen, too, could not have borne a
rival ascendancy; but she was ascendant through right divine, and, while so
acutely understanding Mattie Smith's state of mind, she could not recognize
a certain sameness of nature. She hoped that Mattie Smith would "grow," but
she felt that, essentially, she was not of the sort from which "hers" were
made.
XVIII
It was almost four o'clock by the time that Imogen and Sir Basil reached
the summit of one of the lower hills, and, among the trees, came upon the
white glimmer of the Upton's summer home. It stood in a wide clearing
surrounded on three sides by the woods, the higher ranges rising about it,
its lawn running down to slopes of long grass, thick with tall daisies
and buttercups. Farther on was an orchard, and then, beyond the dip of a
valley, the blue, undulating distance, bathed in a crystalline quivering.
The house, of rough white stucco, had lintels and window-frames of dark
wood, a roof of gray shingles, and bright green shutters. A wide veranda
ran around it, wreathed in vines and creepers, and borders of flowers
grew to the edges of the woods. Sir Basil thought that he had never seen
anything prettier. Valerie, dressed in thin black, was sitting on the
veranda, and beside her Miss Bocock, still in traveling dress, looked
incongruously ungraceful. She had arrived an hour before with the Pottses,
who had gone to their rooms, and said, in answer to Imogen's kindly
queries, that the journey hadn't been bad, though the train was very
stuffy.
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