“Oh dear! And you have a screen, I see. Oh! Why, that is our drawing-room paper.”
She sat transfixed at the recognition, while Judith observed, quite innocently, with a free conscience—
“Yes, miss, my brother-in-law brought it home, and told me it was just a scrap that was left over, and he was free to have, though I said I did wonder the lady did not want to keep it in case of an accident happening.”
“Yes,” said Sophy, “I don’t think he had any business to have it, for all one division of the paper is put on upside down. The laburnums point up instead of hanging down, and I am sure Mary would have altered it if she could. It was beautiful French paper that Edmund brought home from Paris and laid up for the furnishing their house.”
This, of course, Mrs Carbonel and Dora would never have told poor Judith, but Sophy was young and unguarded, and apt to talk when she had better have held her tongue.
“I am sorry to hear it, miss, indeed I am. I am afraid one could not take it off the screen to put it back again where it did ought to be.”
Sophy looked, but it was manifestly impossible. Spoiling the screen would not mend the wall of the drawing-room.
“Perhaps Molly might have another bit left,” she said, only thinking of the triumph of carrying home the means of repairing the deficiency by her own unassisted sagacity.
“I will ask her, miss. I am sure I never thought Dan would go for to do such a thing,” mourned Judith, though, even as she spoke, there came back on her recollections of times when she had tried to be blind and deaf. “But if Mrs Carbonel would let me pay for it, miss, I should be easier in my mind. I have a shilling, though no doubt that is not the worth of it.” And she began feeling for a little box under her pillow, never mentioning that she had already paid Dan a shilling for it.
“No, no; nonsense, Judith! Of course my sister would not take it for the world; but if any one could find another bit, just to patch up the part above the book-case, it would be nice.”