Isa was a little annoyed, but without betraying that she felt so, observed, “I am sure that Hannah would manage nicely without her for so short a time. You know, Gaspar, that you yourself thought a second servant unnecessary here.”
“I do so still,” said Mr. Gritton, taking a pinch of snuff; “but as long as I keep two, I’ll have the services for which I pay.”
“But, Gaspar, I hope that this time—as a personal favour to myself—you will graciously grant leave of absence. I have given Lottie hopes, or rather permission to go to her mother; it would vex me were she to be disappointed.”
Lottie herself had just opened the door, having come to ask Miss Isa if she would not take some refreshment after her walk. She caught Isa’s last sentence, and stood with her hand on the door-handle, quite innocent of any intention of eavesdropping, but too anxious to hear her master’s answer to think of anything else.
“Oh, you’ve given permission, have you! then I don’t see why you should take the trouble of asking mine,” said Gaspar, ungraciously. “Let her go, it is nothing to me; I don’t care if she stay away altogether, an awkward, clumsy gipsy-girl, not worth the salt that she eats.”
Lottie retreated, closing the door behind her, and ran hastily up-stairs to indulge in a good hearty cry. Isa saw the poor girl retiring, and was annoyed at the mortification so needlessly inflicted on a warm young heart.
LOTTIE’S GRIEF.
Gaspar having, though so uncourteously, yielded the point in question, his sister changed the subject of conversation. She drew from her bag a copy of the Times.
“I did not forget your wishes, Gaspar; but my uncle would be glad to have the paper back, as he has the Times bound at the end of the year.”