“Somebody has been here,” said Mrs. Despard, when she came in, and found her sitting, alone with her sewing. “Some one you do not like, or some one who has said something awkward or unpleasant to you.”
“Hector Anstruthers has been here,” was Lisbeth’s answer, but she deigned no further explanation, and did not even lift her eyes as she spoke.
CHAPTER VII.
A NEW EXPERIENCE.
The next time that Georgie found herself alone with Mr. Anstruthers, she read him a very severe little lecture on the subject of his shortcomings.
“I knew that you liked to be satirical, and make fine, cutting speeches,” she said, with the prettiest indignation; “but I did not think you would have gone so far as to be openly rude, and to Lisbeth, of all people! Lisbeth, who is so good, and unselfish, and kind, and who is my dearest friend.”
Hector Anstruthers looked at her sweet face almost mournfully. “Is she good, and unselfish, and kind?” he said. But the question was not a satire. He only asked it in a tender wonder at the girl’s innocent faith.
“There is no one like her. No one so good, unless it is mamma herself,” exclaimed Miss Georgie, with warmth.
“But Lisbeth’s is not a common surface goodness, and I suppose that is the reason that you cannot see it. You, too, who are so far-sighted and clever. I, for one, am glad I am not a genius, if to be a genius one must be blind to everything but the failings of one’s friends. Ah, Hector!” a sudden pity kindling in her gentle breast, as she met his eyes, “Ah, Hector, people often envy you, and call you fortunate, but there are times when I am sorry for you—sorry from my heart.”
“Georgie,” answered the young man, not quite able to control a tremor in his voice, “there are more times than you dream of, when I am sorry for myself.”