“I’m getting tired of the market people,” he answered; “but how can I avoid going unless I fall ill, or something of that sort?”
Her face became crimson, but she made no reply.
“You will not be angry with me if I was to fall ill,” he asked, in a whisper, and placing his hand caressingly on her shiny soft hair.
“Mr. Fortescue,” she cried, in evident surprise. “I do not understand your meaning—angry! In what way can your movements concern me?”
Kitty came in again.
She darted a panther-like look at Fortescue, who received it with a face of marble.
“I have been showing Mr. Fortescue how to make pastry,” said Mrs. Ashbrook to her servant.
“Is the gentleman going to take a situation as man cook, then?” said Kitty, sarcastically.
Mrs. Ashbrook was greatly chagrined at this last observation.
“You are a funny girl,” cried she.