They both started, the pink on Hertha's cheeks turned to lifeless white, and like a shadow she slipped away.
Merryvale stood motionless for a time among the trees. "You wouldn't think it," he said to himself, looking out upon the golden river, "but it's a black world."
"You're late," declared Pomona shortly, as Hertha entered the kitchen. The girl did not answer, but, glancing at the clock, saw that she was on time.
Pomona was not in good humor; indeed, Pomona's gloomy moods were frequent, and the household, to some extent, revolved about them. "I don't know what I should do without Hertha," Miss Patty was fond of saying, when Pomona was especially exasperating, "she is always the same."
But on this day, if Miss Patty had noticed, she would have found in her maid's manner a little trembling unquiet. She did not notice, however, being deeply occupied with Miss Witherspoon, who was proving a stimulating companion. The two had exchanged notes upon the subject of religion to find themselves in pleasant accord, and now were on that most dangerous ground, domestic service.
"You have a wonderful maid," Miss Witherspoon said, after examining the delicate, handmade waist which Hertha had just finished.
"Hertha is surely a treasure. But she likes it here, so don't, my dear lady, hope by offering her better wages, to entice her North."
"I had no thought of anything so basely ungrateful to you."
"Others have, then. But Hertha's not restless like that sister of hers, Ellen—though I'm sure they're no relation. I can't endure that girl. Her influence isn't good over my maid."
"Have I seen Ellen yet?"