“There!” said Mrs. Bean, as she plumped down the candlestick upon the writing table, “you’ve never slept in a room like this before!”
“No, indeed I haven’t,” answered Freda, who would willingly have exchanged fourteenth century tapestry and memories of dead Abbots for an apartment a little more draught-tight.
“Ah! There’s plenty of gentlemen with as many thousands as the Captain had hundreds, would give their eyes for the Abbot’s guest chamber in Sea-Mew Abbey. Now I’ll just leave you while I fetch some hot water and some dry clothes. They won’t fit you very well, you being thin and me fat, but we’re not much in the fashion here. Do you mind being left without a light till I come back?”
Freda did mind very much, but she would not own to it. Just as Mrs. Bean was going away with the candle, however, she sprang towards her, and asked, in a trembling voice:
“Mrs. Bean, may I see him—my father?”
The housekeeper gave a great start.
“Bless me, no, child!” she said in a frightened voice. “Who’d ever have thought of your asking such a thing! It’s no sight for you, my dear,” she added hurriedly.
Freda paused for a moment. But she still held Mrs. Bean’s sleeve, and when that lady had recovered her breath, she said:
“That was my poor father’s room, to the right when we reached the top of the stairs, wasn’t it?”
Again the housekeeper started.