"Aunt West, are you going to stay on at Lancaster Park, and am I to stay here with you?" she asked, slowly.
"That was my expectation, dear," the housekeeper answered, mildly.
"And—am I here on Lady Lancaster's sufferance? Am I—hired to her?"
"Why, no, of course not, Leonora, child. She has nothing at all to do with you. My lady was very kind. She did not send me away because I was about to adopt a daughter. She permitted me to have you here, and she made but one condition."
"And that?"
"That I was to keep you limited to my rooms—to keep you out of her sight. She did not want to be pestered by a child."
"Ah!" Leonora drew a long breath, as with her white fingers she patted the soft rings of hair down upon her white forehead.
"Yes, you can not blame her, surely, dear. You see, my lady is an old woman. She is eighty years old, and she has never had any children. So of course she would not like to be bothered with other people's. She is very ill-natured, and very peculiar, but perhaps when she finds out you are a young lady she will not care if you go out into the grounds some."
"And to the house, Aunt West—am not I to go over that? Papa has told me so much about these grand old English homes. I should like to go over one so much," said the girl.
"I will take you over the house myself, some day. You shall see it, never fear, child, but not for some time yet. You see, the place is full of grand company now."