“Adolphe has informed me of the excellent progress she has lately made. It is a child of much ability he considers, and very amiable.”
Alas for Susan! This remark checked the words on her lips, and brought back all her jealous feelings of Sophia Jane. She could not bear to hear her praised. She would put off saying anything about the present just now, she thought. She would still do it of course; but it would be easier out of doors when she and Mademoiselle were walking home together. And it really seemed as though she were to have constant opportunities given to her; for, when they started an hour or so later, Mademoiselle remarked that the doll Grace wore her new bonnet, and asked:
“And does your little friend yet possess a doll with a head?”
What could be better? The answer in Susan’s mind was, “she might have had one, but she bought the collar instead;” but somehow she could not get the words out. A strange voice seemed to reply for her:
“She doesn’t care about dolls, now she’s ill.”
“Pauvre petite!” exclaimed Mademoiselle in a tone full of sympathy, then suddenly glancing across the road her face became alight with smiles, she waved her hand to someone, bowed repeatedly, and said in a low voice, “It is that brave Madame Jones!” Susan looked in the same direction; she had always been curious to see Madame Jones since the story of the beefsteak. There she was, standing at the door of her shop with her sleeves tucked up; joints of meat and carcasses hung all round. Her face was broad and red, and she wore a black net cap with pink roses in it. She might be brave, and noble, and all that Mademoiselle had said, but Susan thought her not at all nice-looking, and was quite disappointed. She had not expected her to be like that.
“It is a most excellent woman,” murmured Delphine enthusiastically, “and of a noble heart. It is to her we owe the commencement of our success.”
Aunt Hannah’s gate was reached wonderfully soon after this, and still Susan had not told her of the mistake. “It was only put off, however,” she said to herself, “and it really had not been her fault. She would explain all, the very next time they met.”
Mademoiselle left her at the gate with an affectionate good-bye, and as Susan walked up the path to the door the doctor came out. He was generally in’s great hurry, but to-day he stopped and smiled at her:
“Good news,” he said. “If this improvement continues you may see your companion to-morrow, and sit with her an hour. She’s much stronger and better.”