“Where did you get the money with which you bought the red ribbon and orange kerchief this morning, Liza?” said a voice at the door.
All started to see that Aunt Marguerite was there looking on, and apparently the recipient of all that had been said.
Liza stood with eyes dilated, and jaw dropped.
“Then you’ve been at my box,” she suddenly exclaimed. “Ah, what a shame!”
“At your box, you wretched creature!” said Aunt Marguerite contemptuously. “Do you suppose I should go into your room?”
“You’ve been opening my box,” said the girl again, more angrily; “and it’s a shame.”
“I saw her take them up to her room, Louise. My dear, she was buying them under my window, of some pedlar. You had better send her away.”
Liza did not wait to be sent away from the room, but ran out sobbing, to hurry up-stairs to her bed-chamber, open her box, and see if the brilliant specimens of silken fabric were safe, and then cry over them till they were blotched with her tears.
“A bad family,” said Aunt Marguerite. “I’m quite sure that girl stole my piece of fine lace, and gave it to that wretched woman your uncle Luke encourages.”
“No, no, aunt, you lost that piece of lace one day when you were out.”