Lucy looks up, her eyes growing round with surprise.
"Lor', Miss Bonnibel, I never heard of a married woman going to school in my life."
"Perhaps you never heard of a married woman so untutored as I am," her young mistress returns, somewhat bitterly; "anyway, I am determined to go to school and learn something. But I cannot do without a maid, and I will take you, if you will go."
"That I certainly will, Miss Bonnibel," said Lucy, emphatically.
"Very well, Colonel Carlyle and I will start to New York to-morrow to make preparations for our trip. See that the trunks are all packed, Lucy."
"I will, ma'am. They shall be ready, never fear."
She rises and looks wistfully at the little white figure in the chair, resting its dimpled chin in the curve of one pink palm, the golden head bent wearily.
"Sha'n't I get you something? Indeed, you look ill," she implores.
"Nothing, Lucy. Good-night."
"Good-night, ma'am," Lucy responds, going away rather reluctantly.