Miss Morton was the only person who remarked this; and she had a sufficient opportunity, for no notice was taken of her. She was not introduced to Miss Cunningham; but the young lady cast many curious glances at her as she came into the room, and then a whispered conversation followed between her and Margaret, quite loud enough to be heard. She was described as "the person who teaches us music and drawing," and her birth, parentage, and education were given. And when Miss Cunningham's curiosity was satisfied, she condescended to look at her attentively for nearly a minute, and then appeared entirely to forget that such a being was in existence. Miss Morton bore this gaze without shrinking. There was not a flush on her delicate cheek, or the slightest curl of anger about her gentle mouth; and all that showed she was aware of what was said was the momentary glistening of her eye as she caught the words—"Oh! she is an orphan, is she?" and then Margaret's reply—"Yes; she lost her father and mother both in one month." Amy would have felt very indignant, if she had remarked it, but at that moment she could attend to nothing but the door; and Dora, whose proud, sulky mood had not yet passed away, sat by the window, and did not speak.
The dinner was very dull. Miss Cunningham professed herself so tired with her walk that she could not eat; and looking at everything that was offered her, said "she would try it, but really she had such a delicate appetite she could seldom touch anything;" helping herself, at the same time, to two very good-sized cutlets as a commencement, and finishing with the last piece of apple-tart in the dish near her. Rose fixed her eyes steadily upon her, as she transferred the remains of the tart to her plate; and then turning to Miss Morton, whose seat was always next to hers, said almost aloud, "Why does she not ask first!" Miss Morton looked as grave as she could, and tried to stop her; but although Miss Cunningham heard, it did not at all follow that she understood; and the child's question had no more effect upon her than if it had been put in private.
"Would you let me go with you to your room?" said Amy to Miss Morton, as soon as dinner was over. "I am afraid aunt Harrington will be here presently; and I have got into such a scrape with her."
"But supposing," replied Emily, "that I should think it best for you to stay, what will you do then?"
"Oh! of course," said Amy, "I should do as you thought right; but if you would let me go and tell you all about it, I should be so glad; and I will promise to come back again if you say I ought."
"Well!" replied Emily, "if we make that agreement I shall not care; and we will let Rose and her doll stay behind."
Miss Morton's room was becoming to Amy's feelings almost as delightful as the chapel. It was not often that she was admitted there, but whenever she was, her curiosity and interest were greatly excited. There were, in fact, two rooms, a small ante-room and a rather large bedroom; and they would probably have been considered too good to be appropriated to Miss Morton's use, if it had not been that Rose always shared the same apartment. Emily's taste was so good, that wherever she went, some traces of it appeared; and when Amy first saw these rooms after her uncle's arrival, she scarcely recognised them to be the same which she had before known only as desolate lumber-rooms. Not that there were any symptoms of luxury about them, for there was no furniture beyond what was absolutely required; but there were books and work on the table, pictures on the walls, and flowers in the windows; and to all these Amy guessed some history was attached, for the pictures she had been told were of Emily's friends and relations, and the books had been given her by those she was now parted from, perhaps for ever in this world; and the flowers seemed to possess a value beyond anything they could derive from their own beauty, for they were cherished almost as living beings. Once or twice lately Miss Morton had related to Amy some of the stories relating to these things, and this naturally increased her desire to hear more; but on the present occasion she thought of nothing but the relief of escaping from her aunt; and telling Emily, in a few words, what had occurred, she begged not to be sent back again.
Miss Morton thought for a moment, and then replied, "I am afraid, my dear, that I must be very hard-hearted and say, no. Mrs Harrington is much more likely to be displeased, if she thinks you have hidden yourself. You know you must see her again, and then you will still have the same fear, and you will not be comfortable even at home, unless the meeting is over, but if you face it now, and tell her, if she should say anything, that you are sorry she has been displeased, and ask her to forgive you, you will return home happy. We never lessen our difficulties by putting off the evil day."
"But," replied Amy, "Margaret says she will forget."
"I think your cousin is wrong," answered Miss Morton. "Some things Mrs Harrington does forget, but not what she considers liberties; besides, is it not much better to have our faults forgiven and forgotten?"