The first words were in a low tone to her sister, the latter to Maria Bell, who was playing the part of lady’s maid to the two visitors dressing for dinner; but from a keen interest in the state of affairs, Maria’s ears were preternaturally sharp, and she heard the first words as well.
A handsome diamond pin was fetched and handed to the speaker, who thrust it into the knot of abundant hair, where it glistened like so much dew.
“The place doesn’t seem the same,” said Dana, who had finished dressing and lay back in a chair, arranging and rearranging the folds of her dress.
“Hold your tongue,” whispered her sister. “We don’t want everyone to know.”
She looked significantly at the maid, who, with a most discreet air, ignored everything and went on folding and hanging up dresses in the wardrobe.
“I don’t care who hears!” said Dana. “I’m sick of it. I wouldn’t have come if it hadn’t been for the poor old man.”
“Nor I,” said Saxa, whose anger was getting the better of her discretion. “Anyone would think we were perfect strangers; why, Burwood is ten times as attentive.”
“To you,” said Dana spitefully.
“No, he is not; it is to you. If I were you, I’d give Master Alison such a lesson to-night! I’d flirt with Burwood till I made him half mad with jealousy.”
“That’s the advice I was thinking of giving you,” said Dana with a sneer. “He is always at your heels, or wanting to help you mount or dismount.”