Silly child that I was, as if grandmamma ever thought of herself, or her own likes and dislikes, before what she considered right and good for me. But the idea of being something of a martyr pleased me. I got out my work, not my fancy-work—I was in a mood for doing disagreeable things—but some plain sewing that I had not touched for some time, and took it downstairs to the library. I heard voices as I opened the door, grandmamma was sitting at the writing-table speaking to the cook, who stood beside her, a rather fat, pleasant-looking woman, who made a little curtsey when she saw me. But grandmamma looked up, for her, rather sharply—
'Why, have you finished upstairs already, Helena?' she said. 'You had better go into the dining-room for a few minutes, I am busy just now.'
I went away immediately, but I was very much offended, it just seemed the beginning of what I was fancying to myself. The dining-room door was ajar, and I caught sight of the footman looking over some spoons and forks.
'I won't go in there,' I said to myself, and upstairs I mounted again.
On the first landing, where grandmamma's room was, there were several other doors. All was perfectly quiet—there seemed no servants about, so I thought I would amuse myself by a little exploring. The first room I peeped into was large—larger than grandmamma's, but all the furniture was covered up. The only thing that interested me was a picture in pastelles hanging up over the mantelpiece. It caught my attention at once, and I stood looking up at it for some moments.
CHAPTER XI
AN ARRIVAL
It was the portrait of a young girl,—a very sweet face with soft, half-timid looking eyes.