“But mamma won’t let me have the shabby old clothes, mamma loves me too, Harvey,” she persisted.
“Yes, yes—but poor mamma’s very ill. But never mind, darling. While Harvey’s here no one shall put upon you, and then there’s your Auntie Phillis. She loves my Miss Ella, that she does.”
“Auntie’s not here,” said the child.
“No, but may be she’ll come some day soon,” said Harvey mysteriously, “only don’t you say I said so. You don’t want to get poor Harvey scolded again, do you, darling?”
“No,” said Ella, but that was all, and when Harvey kissed her, though she submitted quietly, she did not in any way return the caress.
Then she got down from her nurse’s knee and collected her picture books together, and put them away.
“Sha’n’t I read anything to you? There’s lots of other pretty stories,” Harvey asked.
“No,” said Ella again, “I don’t like no stories.”
And once or twice during that day, even Harvey was startled, and a little conscience-stricken at the expression on the child’s face.
That same morning in a pretty sitting-room on the ground floor of the house, Madelene St Quentin and her sister Ermine were reading, or rather preparing some lessons together, when the door opened and an elderly lady in walking dress came in. Madelene started to her feet.