"Much good he will do," was on my lips, but I did not say it.
I bathed Amabel's heated cheek with elder flower water, for my lady had struck in good earnest, and I was afraid her fingers would leave a black mark. I think she herself was scared at what she had done, for she was all sunshine and sweetness the next day—even to me. She happened to hear me singing over my work, and was so much pleased with my voice as to ask, or rather command me, to come and sing for the entertainment of her company that evening. I was not sorry to oblige her, and received many compliments on my performance.
After this for a time we had fair weather at the Hall. I was frequently called on to sing alone, or in company with Amabel and young Mr. Dugdale, a simple young gentleman, knowing a great deal about music and china, and a very little about any thing else.
My lady was all honey to me, and even made me a present of some lace—small thanks to her. She intimated to me very clearly that she could make or mar my fortunes accordingly as I served her. I wanted none of her making, and, indeed, my greatest fear was that she should find out a match for me.
However, I was willing, for Amabel's sake, to be on good terms with her.
The next Sunday no one went to church but Amabel and myself, and Mr. Dugdale and his sister. We had a quiet, pleasant walk home, conversing on serious subjects, and Mr. Dugdale showed a little better side to his character than I had yet seen.
As we reached the Hall door, he asked Amabel if he should see her in the saloon that evening.
"No, sir!" answered Amabel. "My lady has kindly promised to excuse me."
"Then, perhaps—perhaps—" said the young gentleman, stammering between bashfulness and earnestness. "Perhaps you will allow my Sister Chatty to spend the evening with you."
"Please do, Miss Leighton," added Chatty.