“Oh no, no, I don’t mind at all, Kitty. That is a very pretty frock of yours, and a remarkably nice jacket and cap. You gave me to understand, my dear child, that you and your aunt were not well off. Those clothes must have cost a good penny.”
“Well, shall I tell you how I got them?”
“Oh no, dear, don’t; pray don’t; I am really not in the least interested. I just admire them, and I thought they must have cost a good deal; but don’t tell me your secrets, my love; I am quite prepared to be satisfied with all your dress.”
Kitty was silent. She had a very neat little untruth ready; but, after all, if it wasn’t required, why tell it? She sat, looking thoughtfully and sadly out of the window.
“It isn’t very nice being an orphan, is it?” she said suddenly.
“I think it must be nice for any girl to be at The Red Gables School,” was Mrs. Wyndham’s answer. She had no wish to have a sentimental Kitty flung upon her for the afternoon. “And now, my dear,” she added, “finish your lunch. When you have done you will find me in the inner drawing-room. I shall be lying down, and it is possible I may be asleep, in which case you can sit in a cosy chair by the fire and read one of several books which I shall leave ready for you.”
“And then, when you awake, will you let me give you your tea; will you let me pour it out for you? You will let me wait on you, you will let me be a little daughter to you?”
“Yes, dear, I shall be quite willing.”
“Poor, dear, sweet Mrs. Wyndham!” said Kitty.
Mrs. Wyndham smiled rather vaguely. She left the room.