“Certainly, Alice,” Betty assented with alacrity, “and here is the money; and stop, too, at the haberdasher’s and buy some more of that silk; and here, my girl, get some pink ribbon for that Sunday frock of yours, I will have you look your best.”
Alice courtesied and thanked her, blushing with pleasure.
“You are so dear a mistress to me, madam,” she said tenderly, “I am not half worthy of it.”
Lady Clancarty patted her cheek.
“Do you love me, Alice?” she asked pensively.
“Dearly, madam,” said the girl, simply, “and I would serve you—as my family served yours—faithfully forever.”
Lady Betty sighed.
“I may need it,” she said, and busied herself examining some lace and ribbons that Alice had just laid aside.
“I trust you may need nothing but my love and service, madam,” Alice said; “may happiness and love and honor ever attend my dear, dear lady,” and she went on talking cheerfully of the fair day, the sunshine, and the gay scene without, for she saw a shadow on the countess’ face and it troubled her loyal heart.
But Lady Clancarty said not a word. Instead, her eyes avoided the girl’s honest glance; she blushed and paled like a guilty thing, but an adorable smile trembled on her lips. Not until Alice went out, closing the door behind her, did Betty move. Then she shot the bolts and drew forth the paper from her bosom; she looked over her shoulder, smiled, carried it half way to her face, started, and held it off again, opening it, at last, under the window. The sheet was closely covered with writing and she read it eagerly, and her hands quivered so that the paper shook, and she fell on her knees beside the window and leaning her arms upon the sill, buried her face upon them. She knelt there a long time, the sunlight touching her hair and the beautiful curves of her shoulders. After a while she rose, and going slowly to the mirror stood looking at herself, the crumpled paper in her hand. Her face was white as snow but beautiful, with quite a new and tender beauty. She scarcely knew herself, even when she smiled, nodding at her own reflection.