“I know—I know all about it. You’re plucky, and you will not own it to me. But you’ve been lonely and sad. I’ve got eyes, and I can see for myself. You went away from here pale, sad and quiet; you come back rosy, happy, almost gay, and the life, music, and company up yonder was what you needed, and you shall have some more of it. I like to see folks bright and chipper about me.”
Brownie felt more and more guilty.
But her next words filled her with still deeper dismay.
“They’ve got a houseful of company, as usual, up at the Hall, and we go there, too, to-morrow, to stop a few days.”
“Indeed, Lady Ruxley, I hope you are not going on my account. I do not desire or need company, and I should really prefer to remain quietly here,” she said, in distress.
“Oh! I’ve got eyes—good ones, too, if they are old; besides, Lady Randal desires it. She is getting up a soirée, and desires your services as musician. She sent a note to-day, asking me.”
“But—but you are not well. Really, I think it would be best for neither of us to go.”
“Oh, I’m all right, and I’ve given Minnett orders to have everything in readiness by to-morrow at ten. You will please be ready by that time, too,” returned her ladyship, somewhat impatiently, who thought the young girl hesitated about going only on her account.
That settled it, of course.
Brownie could not refuse point-blank to go, but her heart grew faint within her at the thought of meeting the Coolidges, and particularly under an assumed name.