“Miss Parks,” said Mr. Woodfern, “this is Miss Rebecca Sleeper, of Cleverly.”
A flush of surprise overspread the features of Miss Parks.
“Miss Rebecca Sleeper of Cleverly! Why, it must be Harry’s Becky. You dear little thing! how glad I am to meet you!” and she advanced with outstretched hands to Becky.
Becky met her advances with cordiality, though the appellation of “dear little thing” from a stranger somewhat surprised her.
“Harry has told me all about you. His letters are full of praises of you; and I know all about the adventure in the mill-dam, and the burning of the mill. We must be good friends.”
So Harry wrote to her. She must be a very, very dear friend, then; too dear for her peace of mind. The old jealous feeling crept into Becky’s heart, so heavy that she could scarcely hold back her tears; but she did, and answered nervously,—
“Yes; and I’ve heard a great deal about Miss Alice Parks. I’m glad I met you. It will please Harry to know that I met his dear friend.”
Becky didn’t mean to emphasize the “dear” so strongly; but she noticed it brought a flush to the face of Alice Parks. It was rather confusing, and the two young ladies stood looking at each other in silence.
“Miss Sleeper wants work. She has brought me these sketches. Take a look at them,” said Mr. Woodfern, handing the portfolio to Miss Parks.