"She went off cheerfully enough with Mrs. Molyneux to see the flowers."
"Yes, it was a relief to her. Mrs. Molyneux is an old dear, and she won't feel out of it with her. She has been feeling horribly out of it with you and me."
"Perhaps, Kitty, I mean her to feel out of it. Perhaps I mean her to be unhappy."
"Oh! say you didn't, Auntie Janie," said Lady Kitty, suddenly lifting up a flushed face. "Say you didn't. If you really meant that, I think I should have to throw you over, and take up the cudgels for the girl. Only my loyalty to you has kept me from doing it before. She's a nice little thing, and I am sure she is as jolly as a kitten when she gets fair play."
Lady Jane winced.
"We are both talking nonsense, Kitty. But if what I said were true, how would you defend your—your new friend against me?"
"Upon my word I don't know. I couldn't dress her up in my frocks and jewels; for she's as proud as she's poor. And I couldn't tell her to stand up against going to places where she's perfectly unhappy. And I couldn't say what would be the kindest thing—'Run away, little baa-lamb, to your woods and mountains; the world is no place for you.'"
"Yet you expect me to say it."
"No, I suppose I really don't. Let me see. Her visit is half-way through. Let me take her round now to places she'll enjoy. She'd simply love to see the Tower and Hampton Court, and to look at the shops in Regent Street, and have tea at Winter's."
"I hardly know you in this amiable mood, Kitty."