Yet it had looked welcoming.

A log fire blazing, the table spread, a Chinese cook in baggy blue garments--pigtail flowing; a Malay boy; her bewildered question--was there no woman in the establishment?
Then Colin's strident call from the veranda--'Mrs Hensor.

Where's Mrs Hensor!' And the appearance presently of Florrie Hensor--youngish, tall, a full figure; black hair, frizzed and puffed, a showy face, red cheeks, redder lips, rather sullen, flashing dark eyes--who had received Lady Bridget almost as if she had been her equal, and of whom the bride had at once made an enemy by her frigidly haughty response.

From the first moment, Lady Bridget had disliked Mrs Hensor.

But she had felt a vague attraction towards the little yellow-headed, blue-eyed boy clinging to Mrs Hensor's skirts.