"No, I shouldn't like that at all," said Christian, who rather prided herself on her fair but somewhat pale complexion. "But that needn't happen, need it?"
"Oh, no; but it happened to Judith. She was dyed with walnut-juice, and she wore gypsy's clothes."
"I shouldn't mind that part," said Christian.
"She had a great taste for music," continued Rosy, "and she played a tambourine and danced. They got her up as a sort of Italian gypsy girl, and she danced wonderful pretty in the streets. She didn't seem ever to want for money after that; she got so many pennies. You can dance, can't you, Miss Christian? You've had lots of lessons."
"Dance!" said Christian, a sort of thrill running down to her feet and making them move up and down even though she was in bed. "I should just think I can dance. There's nothing in the world I love better. Oh, Rosy, if we could make our living by dancing it would be too scrumptious!"
"Well, I'll find out everything to-morrow and let you know," said Rosy. "I mustn't come here, for my great-aunt would be angry; but I'll come the day after, and I'll bring all the news with me. Let's think. To-morrow will be Thursday; you aint to go afore Tuesday next week. There's lots of time, only the more money you can get the better it will be. I'll come here on Friday night at the latest."
"Well, then, perhaps we had better go to sleep now," said Christian, who was tired at last. The very novelty of the thing made her tired.
She dropped off into a heavy slumber, dreaming all through the night of wonderful things: of gypsies and their caravans; of Italian girls with tambourines, and little sequins round their heads. She fancied herself an Italian girl in a red frock. She thought how pretty she would look, and how sweet it would be to dance. She would let her abundance of hair fall over her neck and shoulders. A fair Italian girl would be even more captivating than a dark one; and Rosy—pretty Rosy—could be the dark one. Oh, they would have a good time! They would enjoy themselves. And it couldn't be wrong; for if father and mother chose to go to Persia and not show any grief at parting from Christian, why should not Christian take her life in her own hands?
She awoke in the morning and found that Rosy's place was vacant, that astute little girl having left the side of her dearest friend and gone back to nurse. For it would never do for nurse to guess that the young girls were, as she would express it, hatching mischief. Nurse was somewhat suspicious as far as her grandniece was concerned. She knew Rose's character. She had often condoled with her mother on having such a naughty child. Of course, Rosy was very pretty, and she was very fond of Miss Christian; and—worse luck—Miss Christian was very fond of her; and there never was a more masterful child than dear young Miss Christian. Yes, even if Rosy was nurse's own relation, she did not want Christian to see too much of her. But this week of all weeks the child she loved should not be crossed; she should have every single thing she wished for—yes, every single thing; nurse herself would see to that. Nurse considered that Miss Christian was treated shamefully: bundled off to school just as though she were a baby; parted from the nurse who loved her as if she were her own child; taken from the old home and from that strange, mysterious attic where she had spent so much of her time; torn from everyone and taken to school—to a school a long, long way off. Nurse felt piteous tears very near her eyes.
Mr. and Mrs. Mitford had decided to board nurse out during their absence in Persia. The other servants were to be dismissed. Miss Thompson, with an excellent reference and six months' salary over and above what was owing her, would seek another situation. The house would be let to strangers. Christian in reality would have no home.