Her father was pleased. Anything better than that deadly languor.
The next day Bella sat by her father's side in the square, longing to go to the Sister, yet patiently waiting to be ordered.
At last the admiral, finding her dull and listless, said, “Why don't you go and talk to the Sister? She amuses you. I'll join you when I have smoked this cigar.”
The obedient Bella rose, and went toward the Sister as if compelled. But when she got to her her whole manner changed. She took her warmly by the hand, and said, trembling and blushing, and all on fire, “I have brought you the anonymous letter.”
The elder actress took it and ran her eye over it—an eye that now sparkled like a diamond. “Humph!” said she, and flung off all the dulcet tones of her assumed character with mighty little ceremony. “This hand is disguised a little, but I think I know it. I am sure I do! The dirty little rascal!”
“Madam!” cried Bella, aghast with surprise at this language.
“I tell you I know the writer and his rascally motive. You must lend me this for a day or two.”
“Must I?” said Bella. “Excuse me! Papa would be so angry.”
“Very likely; but you will lend it to me for all that; for with this I can clear Miss Bruce's lover and defeat his enemies.”
Bella uttered a faint cry, and trembled, and her bosom heaved violently. She looked this way and that, like a frightened deer. “But papa? His eye is on us.”