They returned to that apartment—­Mr. Joseph did not open the door for them—­and Mrs. Heron and Isabel at once started on a series of questions calculated to elicit all the details of Ida’s past life, her father’s death and her present deplorable condition.  Women can be much more merciless than men in this kind of inquisition; and Ida, weary in mind and body and spirit, suffered acutely under the ordeal.  The two women did not intend to be unkind—­they were really sorry for the homeless orphan; they were prepared to like her; they reluctantly and grudgingly admired her beauty and her grace, and had a sneaking kind of awe of her higher social position, of which they were reminded by every word she spoke, the high-bred accent, and that indescribable air of delicacy and refinement which indicate good birth; but they were devoured by curiosity as to her mode of life and her friends, a curiosity which they were too vulgar, too inconsiderate to restrain.  So poor Ida had to describe the Hall, and the servants, and the way she managed the farm, and the way in which she rode about Herondale.

They were very much impressed, specially so when she mentioned Lord and Lady Bannerdale’s kind offer, and they exchanged glances as the titles left Ida’s lips “quite as naturally as if they were common names,” as Mrs. Heron afterwards remarked to Isabel.

“I’m afraid you’ll find it very dull here, Ida,” said Mrs. Heron, with a sniff.  “You won’t find any society in Woodgreen; they’re nearly all city people, and there aren’t many large houses—­this is as large as most—­and John is very strict.”  She sighed; and it was evident to Ida that though her cousin John’s “religion” might be some amusement to him, it was rather a bugbear and nuisance to his family.  “But we must get Joseph to take you about; and perhaps you and Isabel might go to a matinee or two; but John mustn’t know anything about it.”

Ida made haste to assure them that she did not need any amusement, that she preferred to be quiet, and that she hoped her cousin Joseph would not take any trouble on her account.  At this point Mr. Heron and his elegant son came in, a bell was rung, and the two servants came up for family prayers.  Ida noticed that both the maids looked bored and discontented, and that the “parlour maid,” a mere bit of a girl, appeared to be tired out.  Mr. Heron read a portion of Scripture and offered up a long prayer in a harsh and rasping voice, with the manner of a judge pronouncing a sentence of seven years; and as the servants were leaving the room, called them back, and remarked sternly: 

“I notice in the housekeeping book that a larger quantity of candles than usual has been used during the past week, and I fear that there has been grievous waste of this useful article.  Do not let it occur again.”

The servants went out suddenly, and Mrs. Heron suggested, much to Ida’s relief, that Ida would no doubt like to go to bed.