[CHAPTER XXV.]
"Love is hurt with jar and fret,
Love is made a vague regret,
Eyes with idle tears are wet,
Idle habit links us yet—
What is love? for we forget;
Ah! no, no!"
TENNYSON.
My bright eyed maid had something evidently on her mind the next morning, as stealing early to my bedside, she found me awake and quite ready for her services. I caught sight of her perplexed face in the glass, as she dressed my hair, and said at last, "What are you thinking about, Kitty, has anything happened?"
"Happened? Oh, no, Miss," she said, blushing, and a little confused. "I was only thinking—I was only wondering"——
"Well, Kitty?"
"I mean that—that is—are you very fond of Miss Churchill?"
I laughed and blushed a little in my turn, and said:
"Why no, not particularly, I think."
"Because I think she's a very haughty lady, for my part; and if I am any judge, her maid, Frances, is a much-put-upon young woman, that's all."
"What has led you to that conclusion so soon?" I asked, with a smile.