Kitty's last companion having deserted her, she lay on the entry sofa and fell asleep. She was wakened by her aunt, who returned from the city a short time before dinner—"I say Kitty Ray, wake up and go dress for dinner! I saw Belle at the chamber window looking like a beauty. I wish you'd take half the pains she does to improve your appearance."
Kitty yawned, and, after delaying a little, followed Mrs. Graham's directions. It was Kitty's policy, after giving offence to her cousin Belle, to appear utterly unconscious of the existence of any unkind feelings; and, though Belle often manifested some degree of sulkiness, she was too dependent upon Kitty's society to retain that disposition long. They were soon chatting together as usual.
"Belle," said Kitty, as she stood arranging her hair at the glass, "do you remember a girl we used to meet every morning on our way to school, walking with a paralytic old man?"
"Yes."
"Do you know, I think it was Gertrude Flint. She has altered very much, to be sure; but the features are still the same, and there certainly never was but one such pair of eyes."
"I have no doubt she is the same person," said Belle, composedly.
"Did you think of it before?"
"Yes, as soon as Fanny spoke of her knowing Willie Sullivan."
"Why, Belle, why didn't you speak of it?"
"Lor', Kitty, I don't feel so much interest in her as you and some others do."