Poor Lucy, rebuffed and overwhelmed, caught her astonished breath with a sigh. "Can anybody tell me what I have done now to fret Sarah? She is so cross since she was sick!"
"And before, too!" mutely added Victoria's shrug and lifted eyebrows.
"We must bear with her, my dear!" said the prudent mother. "Her nerves are affected, the doctor says."
Victoria made random pencillings upon the important list—her thoughts in fast pursuit of a notion that had just struck her. She was neither witty nor intelligent; but she possessed some natural shrewdness and a great deal more acquired cunning. She detested Sarah Hunt, and the prospect of obtaining an engine that should humble her arrogant spirit was scarcely less tempting than her own chance of effecting an advantageous matrimonial settlement.
While she was engaged in defining her suspicion to herself, and concerting measures for gathering information with regard to it, Mrs. Hunt went out on some household errand, and Lucy was obliged to descend to the parlor to see callers.
"Don't go until I come back, Vic.. It is the Dunhams, and they never stay long," she said, at quitting her associate.
"Oh, I always make myself at home here, you know, my dear!" was the reply.
Jeannie was sitting on a cushion near the chair Sarah had occupied, dressing her doll.
"It won't fit!" she cried, fretfully, snatching off a velvet basque she had been endeavoring to adjust to the lay-figure.
"Bring it to me! I can fix it!" offered Victoria, winningly. "It's too tight just here, you see. I will rip open the seam and alter it. Who makes your dolly's clothes?"