“You may be sure I’m much mistaken if I wasn’t,” she returned, eagerly, her eyes gleaming with delight, and her gratitude for the position shining through her homely but good-natured face.
“And I am very glad, too. It is the nicest arrangement in the world,” Star said, heartily; “and just to think,” glancing around the elegant apartment with a sigh of supreme content, “that I am to be surrounded with all this beauty! It is like a fairy tale, or a dream of enchantment.”
“I told you I had the best mistress in the world,” Mrs. Blunt said, chuckling; “but we didn’t imagine anything like this, Miss Star, that Sunday when we were stoning raisins and stemming currants.”
“No, indeed,” Star answered, laughing. “But you don’t mean to tell me that you consider me your mistress.”
“I never’d ask for a better,” the woman said, earnestly; then, turning to Mr. Rosevelt, she resumed:
“And now, sir, won’t you please eat your lunch and tell the rest of the story afterward, for everything will be spoiled waiting.”
“Yes, indeed—yes, indeed; to be sure we will. There, Miss Gladstone, sit down by your tea-urn, and make me the best cup of tea that was ever brewed, while I serve you to some of that tempting salad.”
He forced her gently into her chair, and going around to the opposite side of the table, began to wait upon her in the most chivalrous manner.
“Ah! this is what I call comfort, dear,” he said, in a satisfied tone, after Mrs. Blunt had withdrawn to see that the strawberries and cream were properly served; “this is what I have been dreaming about for a whole year; and now, after we have appeased our hunger—and, by the way, I believe I am half-famished, or else Mrs. Blunt’s efforts in the culinary line are wonderfully successful—we will go over the house, and see if everything suits you. What are you looking at the clock for? Your school days are over, Miss Gladstone.”
Star laughed somewhat nervously, and flushed.