Up the stairs they went, every step holding its greeting for Kitty, every touch of the carved rail sending its little thrill through her; round the turn, up to the landing, where the orange tree was in full fruitage—one, two, three,—twelve oranges!
"Do look, Nelly! Sarepta is a wonder, isn't she?"
Past the door from which the voice had always called as she went by, "Kitty my Pretty! is that you?"—silent now; the door open, of course, Sarepta knew enough for that, but not to be glanced at yet—not yet! So into her own room opposite, where the fire crackled as gayly as in the room below, and the curtains were drawn and the candles lighted.
The little leather trunk, being investigated, yielded up a lace blouse, the most exquisite dream of a thing, according to Nelly, that ever was seen. It couldn't be for her! no! It wasn't possible! Reassured on this point, Nelly was overwhelmed. How could she ever, ever, ever thank Kitty enough?
"Hush, Nelly! it isn't half pretty enough for you. Tell me about everybody! Your mother is well, you say? How is Madam Flynt?"
"Very well, except for her rheumatism. I saw her this morning: she sent her best love, and hopes you will come in to-morrow. She can't walk much in this slippery weather: she has been driving—" Nelly stopped suddenly, with a queer look: one would say a guilty look.
Kitty, now in her white wrapper, brushing out her long fair hair before the glass, and looking, Nelly thought, like a heavenly mermaid, did not see the look.
"Well, she wouldn't be driving next door anyhow," she said. "I'll run over right after breakfast. Let me see! I've seen all the dearest people, except your mother and Madam Flynt. Wasn't it darling of them to come to meet me? How handsome Miss Almeria looked! How are the Wibirds, Nell?"
"Much as usual, I think. Melissa is poorly, but she keeps on at the Library. I don't think she's having a very good winter. Poor Melissa!"
Nelly's rosy face clouded slightly.