"Still, I shall always like the dear old costume, Eliza. Oh, what a happy, happy life madame broke up when she sent for us!"
"Yes, I suppose so. You seemed to enjoy it; and as for that young fellow, what with his boating on the river, his shooting birds—which I hate—on the hills, and his lessons—well, really, he might about as well have lived with us."
"Oh! Eliza, shall we ever be so happy again?" cried the girl, kindling up with bright memories.
"Not just in the same way; real folks never are. But I suppose people have a pretty equal share of the good and bad things of life, as they go along. Now I haven't an idea but that the young fellow thought all was up with him when he got the letter you left at the house."
"I should not wonder," said Caroline, and her bosom began to heave with an after-swell of the indignation which had stormed it, when she left Italy at an hour's notice. "It was a cruel thing. I never will forgive you or Mr. Brown. A few hours would have made no difference, and he was coming the next day."
"What then? If he was a teacher, Mr. Brown left his money, with two months' overpay."
"His money!" repeated Caroline, with infinite scorn.
"If not money, what did he come for?" questioned the hand-maiden, sharply.
"Eliza, you shall never think that—it degrades him and me. He never touched—he never thought of money. If Mr. Brown left it, as you say, I am sure he felt insulted."
"Then what did he come for?" inquired Eliza, with dry emphasis.