“And you, Ada?”
“Why should she?” broke in Kate, eagerly; and then, as though shocked at her impetuosity, she went on, in a lower voice: “Ada makes her voyage in a three-decker, I am only clinging to a plank.”
“No, no, dearest,” said Ada, tenderly; “don’t say that.”
“Mademoiselle is looking at her watch,” said Sir Within, “and I must accept the signal.” And though she protested, elaborately too, that it was a mere habit with her, he arose to ring for his carriage. “I am not going without the sketch you promised me, Ada,” said he—“the pencil sketch of the old fountain.”
“Oh, Kate’s is infinitely better. I am ashamed to see mine after it.”
“Why not let me have both?”
“Yes,” said the governess, “that will be best. I’ll go and fetch them.”
Ada stood for a moment irresolute, and then muttering, “Mine is really too bad,” hastened out of the room after Mademoiselle Heinzle-man.
“You are less merry than usual, Kate,” said Sir Within, as he took her hand and looked at her with interest. “What is the reason?”
A faint, scarce perceptible motion of her brow was all she made in answer.