It seemed to her in her dream that Josiah was exceedingly angry, that all that gentleness and suavity of manner which, as a rule, characterised him, had departed; that he was looking at her—yes, at her—with little angry eyes, and that he was accusing her of something which was very terrible and, which, try as she would, she could not disprove. She awoke from this dream trembling and with the dews of perspiration on her forehead. She started up in bed to wipe them away and, as she did so, she was aware of the fact that some one was thumping at her bedroom door.
“Yes—what is it?” she called out crossly.
“It is only me,” answered the voice of her eldest pupil. “I thought you would be tired and have brought you your breakfast.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” said Brenda, relieved and gratified, for she really was intensely thirsty.
She sprang out of bed, unlocked the door, then, running across the room, got into bed once more and sat up, looking exceedingly pretty with her slightly flushed cheeks and befrilled nightdress of fine lawn. Fanchon entered with the breakfast tray, which was quite common, being made of iron that had once been japanned; but this decorative process had gradually been removed by the fingers of time, and Brenda was far too careful with regard to the laundry to allow extra cloths for breakfast trays or any such little dainties.
Fanchon placed the tray on a table close to Brenda’s bed; then having, as she considered, performed her duty, she jumped up on the side of the bed and sat gazing at her governess. Fanchon had made all her preparations. Brenda should have food before the thunder clap fell on her devoted head. Accordingly, Fanchon Amberley began by making friendly enquiries with regard to the governess’ success on the previous day.
“Drink your tea and eat your toast,” she said. “There’s no butter in the house—you didn’t leave us money to buy any, and that egg is, I am afraid, stale. But it is the last one left from your purchases of last week. You must make the best of it, I am afraid. But never mind,” continued the young lady, swinging her foot backwards and forwards, “you must have gorged so on the good things of life yesterday, that I don’t suppose you are overpowered with an appetite.”
“I didn’t gorge,” said Brenda gently. “I never gorge, as you know, Fanchon. But I am thirsty, and it is very thoughtful and kind of you, dear, to bring me up my breakfast.”
Fanchon made no reply to this. Brenda poured herself out a cup of tea. She drank it off thirstily and then looked at her pupil.
“How untidy you are, my dear child.”