"I must have been a little jealous of Lulu or I should not have minded so much being left out in the cold," Joy came to the conclusion; "and it is absurd to be jealous. As though Celia would ever be fonder of Lulu than of me!"
[CHAPTER IX.]
CELIA'S ACCIDENT.
IN a corner of the rock garden at the Moat House was a rustic seat beneath an arbour, where Celia sat one warm, July evening, her fair head bent over a limp, paper-covered volume, whilst several books of a more substantial make lay by her side.
Presumably she had retired to this sheltered nook to learn her lessons for the following day, but actually to read by stealth the entrancing story, "Lady Isabella's Treachery," which Lulu Tillotson had surreptitiously brought to the Moat House for her perusal. The lesson books lay unheeded as Celia followed the fortunes of Lady Isabella, who was represented as a woman of wonderful fascination; and she was deep in the account of her jealousy of a beautiful but penniless girl, a dependent in Lady Isabella's household, and was reaching a most exciting part in the story, when she heard Joy's voice calling her by name. Hastily closing the novel, she thrust it into a cranny between two rocks at the back of the arbour; and, seizing one of the lesson books, opened it at random, and pretended to be deeply engrossed in its contents.
"Celia! Celia! Where are you?"
"Here. What do you want, Joy? I'm busy learning my lessons for to-morrow."
The lie rose glibly to Celia's lips. Time was when she would have scorned to speak anything save the truth. But two months had elapsed since Mrs. Wallis and her little daughters had taken up their abode at the Moat House, and those two months had not improved Celia's character. She had longed to live in a beautiful house like her present home, to have every comfort and luxury; and yet, now, when all these good things were hers to enjoy, she could not fully appreciate them for thinking of the time when she might have to give them up. If she was certain she would remain at the Moat House, she thought she would be perfectly happy; and she tried her utmost to ingratiate herself with Sir Jasper, and succeeded so well that he always looked forward to the evenings when, her lessons finished, she would be at leisure to devote an hour or so to him.
"Where's my pretty Celia?" he would ask, and Celia would smile, and give him her arm to lean upon as he hobbled up and down the terrace, or would take him for a little walk in the rock garden. She had to sacrifice her own inclination often to wait upon him; but it was not an unselfish motive that urged her to do so; she desired to make her presence indispensable to him. At first she had been gratified by his preference for her society to Joy's; but she was beginning to find the old man a great tie; especially when, as on the present occasion, she wanted her leisure time for herself, so she looked up with a slight frown on her face as Joy came running towards her, followed by a liver-and-white spaniel puppy named Wag.
"Well?" she said, impatiently. "What is it?"