“Well, then, I think you needn’t speak to me in that tone; it isn’t very pleasant for me; and if you have any suspicions I’d better go to poor auntie; she’s breaking her heart about me; she was so looking forward to having me with her for Christmas.”
“Kitty, I don’t suspect you of anything. Of course the door was open, because you say so; but you really have a funny way of contradicting yourself, doubtless without meaning it, for when mother sent you an invitation to spend Christmas here, and I said that I was afraid your aunt would be disappointed, you said that, on the contrary, it would be the greatest possible godsend and relief to her, as she was going to visit some titled friends in the north who had forgotten to give you an invitation. You ought to remember these things, Kitty, for in this house we always say what we mean. Father and mother wouldn’t allow anything else.”
“Then, however do you get on with the Irish girl?”
“Get on with her!” cried Jessie. “We don’t get on with her, at least I don’t; but if she has a fault it is that she is too straight. She’s the opposite to you in every way, Kitty.”
Just then one of the footmen appeared. “If you please, miss,” he said to Jessie, “Miss Dodd has called from Hillside, and she hopes it isn’t too early, but she particularly wants to see Miss Merrydew for a few minutes.”
“Oh, then, she didn’t call on us,” said Jessie. “We’ll see her, of course, in a minute or two; but you had better have a chat with her first, Kit. I suppose it’s one of your innumerable secrets that you and she are always confabbing over.”
“I’ve shown Miss Dodd into the blue drawing-room,” said the servant.
Kitty, feeling extremely cross, shook out her crimson skirts, tossed back her mane of black hair, and walked in the direction of the blue drawing-room. It was a large room facing north, a beautiful room in summer, because it opened onto a great expanse of flower-garden; but dreary at this time of year, notwithstanding the fact that it was heated with hot pipes.
Anne was standing, feeling very restless and nervous, by one of the windows. She knew she ought to have asked for one of the Wyndhams as well as Kitty, but in her agitation had forgotten this until it was too late. She glanced apprehensively round the room; she was accustomed to wealth and show, and this room bore traces of wealth; but there was no attempt at show; it was essentially quiet, restful, and refined. The paper on the walls was of a delicate shade of blue, the paint one or two shades darker. There was one lovely landscape over the mantelpiece, and no other picture in the room; but that landscape was a gem, done by one of our greatest landscape painters, and was worth thousands of pounds. Anne knew nothing about art, but the whole effect of the room depressed her. She knew she could never live up to such a room.
Just then the door was opened and Kitty flashed in; wearing the finery which Anne had bought for her, she looked at once radiant and very cross. “Now, what have you come about? Don’t you know you oughtn’t to do it?”