“I’ve brought one of Lady Bellair’s maids for your service, my lady,” Malcolm went on. “She will do the best she can to wait on you.”
Florimel gave her a look.
“I don’t remember you,” she said.
“No, my lady. I was in the kitchen.”
“Then you can’t be of much use to me.”
“A willing heart goes a long way, my lady,” said Rose, prettily.
“That is fine,” returned Florimel, rather pleased. “Can you get me some tea?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Florimel turned, and, much to Malcolm’s content vouchsafing him not a word more, went below.
Presently a little silver lamp appeared in the roof of the cabin, and in a few minutes Davy came, carrying the tea-tray, and followed by Rose with the teapot. As soon as they were alone, Florimel began to question Rose; but the girl soon satisfied her that she knew little or nothing. When Florimel pressed her how she could go she knew not where at the desire of a fellow-servant, she gave such confused and apparently contradictory answers, that Florimel began to think ill of both her and Malcolm, and to feel more uncomfortable and indignant; and the more she dwelt upon Malcolm’s presumption, and speculated as to his possible design in it, she grew the angrier.