"God forgive you and change your heart!" she said piously.
I did not answer. Most children are aristocratic, and I had a certain intuitive scorn of servants; besides, Sarah had only been a few days with us.
"Will you come in to tea?" she again asked. I took up my book, as if she had not spoken. "Miss," she said solemnly, "there'll be a judgment on you yet."
With this warning she left me. I went in when it pleased me to do so. On entering the parlour, I perceived two cups on the tea-tray. "Is Papa come back?" I asked, without looking at Sarah.
"Miss," she said indignantly, "servants aint dogs, nor cats either. I am ashamed of you, Miss."
"Is Papa come back?" I asked again, with all the insolence of conscious security.
If Sarah had dared, I should then have got a sound slap or box on the ear, but I knew well enough she would not dare: her predecessor had been dismissed for presuming to threaten me with personal chastisement, so she swallowed down her resentment to reply, rather sharply, "No, Miss, the Doctor is not come back, Miss."
I looked at the two tea-cups, and said haughtily, "I'll have my tea alone."
Sarah became as crimson as the ribbons in her cap, gave me a spiteful look, laughed shortly, and vindictively replied. "No, Miss, you'll not have tea alone, Miss. Mr. O'Reilly is come, and as he is not an unfort'nate servant, perhaps you won't mind taking tea with him, Miss."
I sulked on hearing the news.