"Yes, Miss—Massereene. Law! it do sound odd," says Sarah, with a little respectful laugh, "but high-sounding too, I think. I do hope I shan't forget it, Miss Molly. Perhaps you will be good enough to remind me when I go wrong?"
A knock at the door prevents reply. Molly cries out, "Come in," and, turning, finds herself face to face with a fine old woman, who stands erect, and firm, in spite of her many years, in the doorway. She is clad in a sombre gown of brown silk, and has an old-fashioned chain round her neck that hangs far below her waist, which is by no means the most contemptible portion of her.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Massereene; I could not resist coming to see if you were quite comfortable," she says, respectfully.
"Quite, thank you," replies Molly, in a degree puzzled. "You are"—smiling—"the housekeeper?"
"I am. And you, my dear,"—regarding her anxiously,—"are every inch an Amherst, in spite of your bonny blue eyes. You will forgive the freedom of my speech," says this old dame, with an air that would not have disgraced a duchess, "when I tell you I nursed your mother."
"Ah! did you?" says Molly, flushing a little, and coming up to her eagerly, with both hands extended, to kiss the fair old face that is smiling so kindly on her. "But how could one think it? You are yet so fresh, so good to look at."
"Tut, my dear," says the old lady, mightily pleased nevertheless. "I am old enough to have nursed your grandmother. And now can I do anything for you?"
"You can," replies Molly, turning toward Sarah, who is regarding them with an expression that might at any moment mean either approval or displeasure. "This is my maid. We are both strangers here. Will you see that she is made happy?"
"Come with me, Sarah, and I will make you acquainted with our household," says Mrs. Nesbitt, promptly.
As the door closes behind them, leaving her to her own society, a rather unhappy shade falls across Molly's face.