“Is it me? Never in my life!”
“Well, I’m really going now. Good night.” Kissing her, she whispered, “sleep well, and dream happy dreams. I expect they will all come true!”
CHAPTER XXIII
Joseline, who was worn out, both bodily and mentally, slept a sound and dreamless sleep, from which she was aroused by the sound of careful footsteps, a rustling of starched petticoats, and a gentle opening of heavy shutters. She stared about the unfamiliar, lofty room. Where was she? As her gaze fell on the pale satin counterpane, the dignified dressing-table, beyond it a tall housemaid in a stiff print gown, cautiously raising the window-blinds, she closed her eyes. Would she open them on her own little quarters in the cottage loft?—a room with a wooden bed and patchwork quilt, a rickety washstand, and one chair? No, no—and she sat erect among her pillows—it was not a dream; she was at home—her real home. Sleepily she watched the clever housemaid arrange her bath, and carry in her tea in a dainty canary-coloured service.
“At what time will you have your breakfast, my lady? Her ladyship said you would have it in your room.”
“At nine o’clock. Just a bit of anything that’s going—I’m partial to stirabout.”
“Very well, my lady.”
Enter Justine the maid, with her smart lace-trimmed apron and air of critical inquiry, who began to arrange and put away and take out things in a sort of stealthy silence. Presently she came forward and asked—