“Did you not turn your back to me when I seated myself next you in Mrs. Braefield’s garden, vouchsafing me no reply when I asked if I had offended?”
Lily’s face became bathed in blushes, and her voice faltered, as she answered,—
“I was not offended; I was not in a bad temper then: it was worse than that.”
“Worse? what could it possibly be?”
“I am afraid it was envy.”
“Envy of what? of whom?”
“I don’t know how to explain; after all, I fear aunty is right, and the fairy tales put very silly, very naughty thoughts into one’s head. When Cinderella’s sisters went to the king’s ball, and Cinderella was left alone, did not she long to go too? Did not she envy her sisters?”
“Ah! I understand now: Sir Charles spoke of the Court Ball.”
“And you were there talking with handsome ladies—and—oh! I was so foolish and felt sore.”
“You, who when we first met wondered how people who could live in the country preferred to live in towns, do then sometimes contradict yourself, and sigh for the great world that lies beyond these quiet water banks. You feel that you have youth and beauty, and wish to be admired!”