"I did not think to offend, madam; the little girl is so pretty—how could I?"
Ada did not heed her; she was gazing earnestly on the little girl. The smile had left her face, and this made a corresponding change in the sensitive child. She felt as if some offence had been given, else why should the lady look into her eyes with such earnest sadness?
"What is your name?"
The question was given in a low and hesitating voice.
"Julia—Julia Warren."
"That is enough. Rosanna, never speak in this way again!"
"Never, if madam desires it. But the flowers: see what quantities the little thing has brought. No wonder she was late—such a load."
"True, we were waiting for the flowers; here, fill my bouquet holder—the choicest, remember—and let every blossom be fragrant."
Rosanna took a bouquet-holder, whose delicate network of gold seemed too fragile for all the jewels with which it was enriched, and kneeling upon the floor, began to arrange a cluster of flowers. Her active fingers had just wound the last crimson and white roses together, when a footman knocked at the door. She started up, and went to see what was wanted.