"Take them away, please," said Lesley, wearily. "I do not want to read them: I am not accustomed to that sort of book." Then, the innate sweetness of her nature gaining the day, she added, "Please do not be angry with me, Sarah. I would read them if I thought that they would do me any good, but I am afraid they will not."
"Just like your mother," Sarah said, sharply. "She wouldn't touch 'em with the tips of her fingers, neither. And a maid, and all that nonsense. And dresses from France. Deary me, this is a sad upsetting for poor master."
"I don't interfere with your master," said Lesley, somewhat bitterly. "He does not trouble about me—and I don't see why I should trouble about him."
She said it almost below her breath, not thinking that Sarah would hear or understand; but Sarah—after flouncing out of the room with an indignant "Well, I'm sure!"—went straight to Miss Brooke and repeated every word, with a few embellishments of her own. Miss Brooke came to the conclusion that Lesley was, first of all, very indiscreet to take servants so much into her confidence, and, secondly, that she was inclined to rebel against her father's authority. And it seemed good to her to take counsel with Mrs. Romaine in this emergency; and Mrs. Romaine soon found an opportunity of pouring a sugared, poisoned version of what she had heard into Caspar Brooke's too credulous ears. So that he became colder than ever in his manner to Lesley, and Lesley wondered vainly how she could have offended him.
The sole comfort that she gleaned at this time came from the Kenyons. Ethel called on her, and won her heart at once by a peculiarly caressing winsomeness that reminded one of some tropical bird—all dainty coquetries and shy, sweet playfulness. Not that Ethel was in the least bit shy, in reality; but she had a very tiny touch of the stage habit of posing, and with strangers she invariably posed as being a little shy. But in spite of this innocent little affectation, and in spite of a very fashionable style of dress and
demeanor, Ethel was true-hearted and affectionate, and Lesley's own heart warmed to the tenderness of Ethel's nature before she had been in her company half an hour.
"You know you are not a bit like what I expected you to be," Ethel said sagely, when the two girls had talked together for some little time.
"What did you expect?" said Lesley, her face
aglow.
"I hardly know—something more French, I think—a girl with airs and graces," said Ethel, who had herself more airs and graces than Lesley had ever donned in all her life; "nothing so Puritan as you are!"