For Grey had smiled her thanks, and was taking off her bonnet, the wire of which had somehow become entangled with her soft, fair, wavy hair.
Miss Rosebury’s clever, plump little fingers deftly disentangled the bonnet, and then, not satisfied, began to smooth the slightly dishevelled hair, as if finding pleasure in playing with the fair, sunny strands that only seemed to ask for a dexterous turn or twist to naturally hang in clusters of curls.
Miss Rosebury’s other hand must have been jealous, for it too rose to Grey’s head and joined in the gentle caress; while far from looking tight, and forming a thin red line, the little middle-aged lady’s lips were in smiling curves, and her eyes beamed very pleasantly at her young visitor, who seemed to be half pleased, half pained at the other’s tender way.
“I am sure I shall be sorry to go away again,” said Grey, softly. “It is very kind of you to fetch us here.”
“Not at all, my dear,” said Miss Rosebury, starting from her reverie; “but—but I’m afraid I must be very strict with you,” she continued, in a half-merry, half-reproving tone. “The Misses Twettenham have confided you to my care, and I said—I said—”
“You said, Miss Rosebury?” exclaimed Grey, in wondering tones, and her large, soft eyes looked their surprise.
“Yes, I said, as we came away, I’m a very peculiar, particular old lady, my dear; and I can’t have tall gentlemen making bows to you when you are in my charge.”
“Oh, Miss Rosebury!” cried Grey, catching her hand and blushing scarlet, “please—pray don’t think that! It was not to me!”
“Ah!” exclaimed the little lady, softly. “Hum! I see;” and she looked searchingly in the fair young face so near to hers. “It was my mistake, my dear; I beg your pardon.”
Grey’s face was all smiles, though her eyes were full of tears, and the next moment she was clasped tightly to Miss Rosebury’s breast, responding to her motherly kisses, and saying eagerly: