“Tell Crossley to come in a few minutes to take Miss Meredon’s tea up-stairs,” said Lady Mildred, not knowing that the footman had already left the room, and that the movements she still heard were made by Claudia, safely ensconced behind the tray, and laughing quietly to herself. In another minute a voice close beside her made the old lady start.
“Aunt Mildred,” it said, “here is your tea.”
“Claudia!” she exclaimed. “I thought you were up-stairs in your room.”
“Selfishly writing my letter home! Oh, aunt! how could you think I would be so horrid! My letter will do very well to-morrow. I did not think it was so near tea-time when I thoughtlessly spoke of it. Do you think I don’t enjoy making tea for you?—almost the only thing I can do for you,” said the girl with a kind of affectionate reproach.
Lady Mildred was silent for a few moments. Then she said again, with a tone in her voice which was not often heard,—
“Claudia, you have the best of gifts—a sweet and sunny nature. Try to keep it, my dear.”
And Claudia felt rewarded.
She sat up in her own room that night for half-an-hour to write the home letter.
“Mamma would forgive my doing so for once,” she said to herself, “for I may not have time to-morrow. If I am really to do well at school I must work hard, and it will not be easy to do so, and yet to please Aunt Mildred. But I don’t mind how difficult it is—it will be worth it all to be able to help them at home without being separated. But oh, mamma, mamma! it is very hard to be away from you all!”
And Claudia leant her head on the table and burst into tears.