“But I am going,” said the child, with courage that was heroic; though he clung to her hand as if he never would let it go, all the same.
Mrs. Russell was a pretty, faded woman, with hair like Katie’s, and the same blue eyes; but the mirth was out of them, and puckers of anxiety had come instead. She had put up her handkerchief to her forehead when Lucy entered the room. She had a headache, as Lady Randolph divined. There was a little flush of excitement upon her cheeks. When Lucy was introduced to her she gave the girl a wistful look first, then made an anxious inspection of her, returning again and again, Lucy felt, to her face. Was not there in that look the inevitable contrast which it was so impossible to help making?
“Is this,” she said, “the young lady Katie has written to me about?” She added, faltering, after a moment, “the dear young friend who has been so kind to her?” and again she turned a questioning, wistful look upon Lucy, whose fate was so different.
“Indeed,” said Lucy, “I could not be kind, I wish I could; but I like Katie very dearly, Mrs. Russell.”
“Ah, my dear, if I may call you so,” cried the poor woman with the headache, “that is the very sweetest thing you could say,” but all the same her eyes kept questioning. What had the heiress come for? What had Lady Randolph come for? When visitors like these enter a very poor house, should not some pearls and diamonds fall from their lips, some little wells of comforting wealth spring up beneath their feet?
“How does the school go on?” said Lady Randolph; “that is the cause of our visit, really. I heard of a little boy—but how does it go on? Did you settle about those Indian children?”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Russell, “there is nothing so hard to get as Indian children; they are the prizes; if one can but get a good connection in that way, one’s fortune is made; but there are so many that want them. It seems to me that there is nothing in all the world but a crowd of poor ladies fighting for pupils. It will be strange to you, Miss Trevor, to hear any one talk like that,” she added.
She could not help, it would seem, this reference to Lucy; a girl who was made of money, who could support dozens of families and never feel it. It was not that the poor lady wanted her money, but she could not help feeling a wistful wonder about her, a young creature whose fate was so different! When one is very poor it is so natural to admire wealth, and so curious to see it, and watch its happy owners, if only to note in what way they differ. Lucy did not differ in any way, at which poor Mrs. Russell admired and wondered all the more.
“But you have some pupils?” Lady Randolph said.
“Yes, three in the house, and six who are day-scholars. Bertie tells me it is not such a bad beginning. I tried for little boys, because there are so few, in comparison, that take little boys; and Bertie teaches them Latin.”