“But why can’t he give it up then, since they are so very rich?” demanded Harriet.
Miss Wynward regarded her for a moment, as if she wondered who had given her the information, and then said quietly,
“But all this time we are forgetting your breakfast, Miss Brandt! What will you take? An egg, or a piece of bacon?”
“O! I don’t care,” replied Harriet, yawning, “I never can eat when I am alone! Where is Bobby? Won’t he take his breakfast with me?”
“O! he had his long ago with his Mamma, but I daresay he would not mind a second edition, poor boy!”
She walked to the French windows which opened from a rustic porch to the lawn, and called “Bobby! Bobby!”
“Yes, Miss Wynward,” replied the lad in a more cheerful tone than Harriet remembered to have ever heard him use before, “what is it?”
“Come in, my dear, and keep Miss Brandt company, whilst she takes her breakfast!”
“Won’t I!” cried Bobby, as he came running from the further end of the disorderly garden, with a bunch of flowers.
“They are for you!” he exclaimed, as he put them into Harriet’s hand, “I gathered them on purpose!”