"Yes, put him down, Elizabeth," said Mrs. Heron, still pressing her handkerchief to her eye. "I am sure I have no desire to inflict any hardship upon you. If you devoted yourself to my children, I thought that it was from choice and because you had an affection for your uncle's family. But you seem to have had no affection—no respect—no confidence——"
A gentle sob cut short her words.
"What have I done?" said Elizabeth. Her face had turned a shade paler than before, but betrayed no sign of confusion. "Lie still, Jack; I do not mean to put you down just yet. Indeed, I think I had better carry you upstairs again." She left the room swiftly, pausing only at the door to add a few words: "I will be down again directly. I shall be glad if Percival will wait."
There was a short silence, during which Mrs. Heron dried her eyes, and Percival stared uncomfortably at the toe of his left boot.
"Surely Elizabeth has a right to her own secrets," said Kitty, from her station on the hearth. But nobody replied.
Presently Elizabeth came down again, with a couple of letters in her hand. It seemed almost as if she had been upstairs to rub a little life and colour into her face, for her cheeks were carnation when she returned, and her eyes unusually bright.
"Will you tell me what I have done that distresses you?" she said, addressing herself steadily to Mrs. Heron, though she saw Percival glance eagerly, hungrily, towards the letters in her hand.
"Indeed, I have no right to be distressed," replied Mrs. Heron, still, however, in an exceedingly hurt tone. "Your own affairs are your own property, my dear Lizzie, as Kitty has just remarked; but, considering the care and—the—the affection-lavished upon you here——"
She stopped short; Percival's dark eyes were darting their angry lightning upon her.
"A care and affection," he said, "which condemned her to the nursery in order that she might indulge her extreme love for children, and save you the expense of a nursery-maid."